Alphabet Crackers: The A to Z of Rikkai Dai
by jellinor
Summary: A is for Akaya. B is for Buchou says. C is for Conditioned. D is for Déjà vu. E is for Engrish. F is for Friend. G is for Genius. H is for Hair. I is for Initiation. J is for Jelly. K is for Kaida-sensei. L is for Line-up. M is for Mannerisms. N is for Nurture. O is for Old boys. P is for Protégé. Q is for Quality time. R is for Rikkai Dai.
1. A is for Akaya

Author's Note: Because Akaya is Akaya, and there is _a_ _lot_ to be said about that.

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ is not mine.

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_**A **_**is for **_**A**_**kaya**

#

KIRIHARA, thinks Sanada, still lacks the necessary control to pose a real threat. But that doesn't stop Sanada from anticipating the day that Akaya finally issues a challenge he can actually win, nor does it put him off pushing the brat ever harder in hope of perhaps _speeding up the process_ a little... After all, ten years is far too long, tarundoru!

THEIR KID DEMON, thinks Jackal, is hardly a poster boy for good manners and sensible behaviour. Instead, he's cocky and rude, loud and abrasive, and that gets him into trouble more often than not. But look a little deeper and he is also fiercely, _fiercely_ loyal to the few people he lets close, and so they have this unspoken agreement to stick around, just in case he needs them (and God knows he does), for as long as they possibly can.

BAKAYA, thinks Marui, better do something about his deplorable English skills – and _soon_. Marui is a volley-specialist of the highest calibre and can do truly wicked things at the net; but even for all his genius, it seems pretty clear to him that with the obvious exception of Yukimura, who eats, sleeps and _breathes_ tennis in an almost surreal way, Akaya is probably the only one in their band of brothers who'll go on to make it Big.

RIKKAI'S JUNIOR ACE, thinks Yanagi, certainly deviates from the norm in all the regards that matter, but even he could very easily be reduced to exactly three basic components: passion, confidence and potential. AKAYA, on the other hand, exists in superlatives and simply refuses to be acknowledged as anything less than absolutely everything he is, everything he ever was and everything he aspires to be. This inherent contradiction makes their youngest member a rather _messy_ equation to work with, but Yanagi isn't Rikkai Dai's master strategist for nothing.

THE BRAT, thinks Niou, is unexpectedly difficult to impersonate. In fact, he can only count one success so far, briefly slipping into character in front of the bathroom sink one evening, straight into Red-Eyed Mode. The Illusion was far from perfect, but even that had been good enough; and Niou remained under Kirihara's skin only for the five, painful heartbeats it took him to finally wrench his own identity back. He then vowed to the sharp reflection in the mirror, which had been his_ own_ again, to start treating the kid a bit nicer.

KIRIHARA-KUN, thinks Yagyuu, is not a gentleman. He speaks too harshly, swears too readily and treats those around him only with the respect he feels they truly deserve. No. Kirihara-kun is too _honest_ to ever pretend to be someone he is not and does not even bother to conceal the brutality of his tennis behind the special brand of lethal cunning that otherwise is Rikkai Dai's (and Yagyuu's) forte. And contrary to popular belief, the boy, who is known as 'The Gentleman' but feared for something else entirely, is _glad_.

THAT BOY, thinks Yukimura, may be many things, but more than anything, he is _special_. They all are to a certain extent, he knows, or they wouldn't be part of his team: Yukimura's Rikkai Dai is – and always will be – extraordinary, and he wouldn't have it any other way. But in Akaya, in that _scrap_ of a boy with the bright, bright eyes and a talk much bigger than his walk, and who wouldn't give up then, who doesn't give up now and who won't give up ever, rests the foundation of a legacy: Akaya, who will not be graduating along with the rest of them when the time comes, is _their_ (Yukimura, Genichirou, Jackal, Bunta, Renji, Masaharu and Hiroshi's) final – and greatest – gift to tennis and to their school, _Triple Crown or not_.


	2. B is for Buchou says

Author's Note: A bit of context before we kick off... This one is set during Akaya's first year at Rikkai Dai, shortly after he officially joins the tennis team, and coinciding rather nicely with the early days of Mizuki Hajime's unconventional recruitment drive. I seem to remember reading somewhere that Mizuki only became manager of the tennis team in his _second_ year, so it would make sense (in my head, at least) if he set 'Operation: Get-Set-Poach!' in motion around this point in time. It's not exactly canon, I know, but given Akaya's (100% self-proclaimed, but still!) reputation in the junior tennis leagues, it isn't completely off the rails to imagine that Mizuki would have heard of him somehow, right? Right? Who's with me! Anyway, this is my first attempt at writing Mizuki, but he's just such a shamelessly _willing_ villain, and I can't help but to absolutely _adore_ his corrupt little heart for it! It's curious, but even though this whole thing is written entirely from the St. Rudolphian's point of view, it still manages to be all about Rikkai Dai.

Also, thank you so much for the support and kind words, you know who you are and you ROCK!

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to _The Prince of Tennis_. I only wish I did.

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_**B**_** is for **_**B**_**uchou says**

#

He quickly locates his target, haphazardly dressed in the right school uniform (an absolutely _beastly_ thing in some sort of vaguely puke-ish green _with_ _teal_, and what seemed like a disgusting enough combination on paper somehow manages to look worse still in the garish light of real life), but blessed with just the right amount of dark, unruly hair (which, Mizuki supposes, is almost-but-not-really-because-who-was-he-kidding? comparable to his own glorious raven do), on the second to last row of empty plastic seats. He casually takes a good look around, spots nobody but the driver, imagines his most innocent smile and clears his throat.

"Rikkai Dai's Kirihara-kun, I presume...?" Mizuki leans in a little closer. "Kirihara-kun? Kirihara-kun?"

He then waits patiently for Kirihara, who seems to have been dozing off with his head propped up against the window in a position that is hardly conductive to effective rest, to finally snap to attention at the repeated calling of his name.

What an excellent set of reflexes, thinks Mizuki cheerfully as he watches the boy's expression shift from surprised to confused to deeply annoyed.

"—the heck?" grunts Kirihara bluntly and blearily. "Who are you? Whaddya want?"

Naturally, Mizuki pays him no heed whatsoever, instead easing himself down in the seat next to his unwitting victim. "Imagine meeting you here of all places..." he muses smugly. "What a coincidence. Nfu, nfu, nfu, nfu, nfu."

Except, of course, this isn't a coincidence at all, but a carefully staged 'chance meeting' between two strangers orchestrated by none other than yours magnificent truly. Mizuki has kept Kirihara Akaya under strict observation for almost two weeks, despite all his other commitments and the added challenge of some rather troublesome logistics. It instantly paid off, however, when he discovered Kirihara's curious habit of falling asleep on the shuttle bus heading for Tokyo; a small piece of good fortune that Mizuki had absolutely no qualms taking full advantage of, and then incorporate into The Plan.

"Who _are_ you?" repeats the naive, naive boy, and Mizuki supposes that it's time.

"Mizuki Hajime, manager of the boys' tennis team at Saint Rudolph Gakuin, at your service," he announces with a flourish. "It's an honour, I'm sure."

Kirihara blinks once, then twice, obviously overwhelmed.

"...eh, _what_?" he asks at last, rather stupidly, and Mizuki must remind himself that this individual's talents lie first and foremost in his tennis.

But never one to give up, not even when dealing with complete morons, Mizuki tries again. "We're one of Tokyo's leading tennis clubs," he smirks warmly. "Surely you have heard of us?"

Kirihara looks very, very blank. Still, Mizuki soldiers on, staunchly refusing to let it get to him.

"Officially, St. Rudolph is a Catholic institution with a student body of five hundred and seventy-seven. It has its own dormitory on campus, which certainly is very convenient for those of us who normally reside outside Tokyo..." Mizuki pauses triumphantly, before lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But strictly between us, it's not an excessively religious school; prayers are only said at meal times."

He sits back, regarding the boy carefully, but nothing.

"It's just as I thought. You don't do 'small-talk', do you, Kirihara-kun?" Mizuki twists a lock of hair around his finger. "Nfu, nfu, nfu, nfu, nfu. Very well then, let's get right down to business."

"You've built quite the reputation for yourself on the junior tennis circuit," Mizuki practically _purrs_. "Your win-loss ratio is very impressive—"

There is a tiny spark of _something_ deep in Kirihara's eyes, and Mizuki thanks his lucky star that the boy is so easily flattered. This is going to be a piece of cake.

"—please do understand that I have done my homework, Kirihara-kun, and I'm _very_ thorough."

He pauses dramatically, imagining that victory is tantalizingly close now; it's time to move in for the kill.

"Still, you're not nearly as famous as you would like to be, am I right?" Mizuki steals a furtive glance at Kirihara, and concludes that, yes, this is indeed hitting home. "Not like certain, _other_ members of your team."

"You really shouldn't feel bad," he continues. "After all, winning national recognition for anything is an exceptional achievement, especially at our age."

Mizuki waits another few moments, just to let it all sink in properly, and then he goes for broke:

"I understand why you chose Rikkai Dai, Kirihara-kun. You are obviously extremely talented, and strength seeks out strength; it's only natural.

"I also understand that you were planning on taking over the tennis club, am I correct? You might even have succeeded if it weren't for _them_ – The Big Three – because they _crushed_ you that day, humiliating you, in front of everyone, after exposing all of your weaknesses. Afterwards, you could have left for good, but clearly you haven't. You decided to stay, to watch their every move from the inside, to slowly learn their secrets and bide your time until you would be strong enough to defeat them, isn't that right?

"It was a good plan to be sure; very good, very _logical_. But tell me, Kirihara-kun, how is that plan working out for you now? What have you learnt so far? What have _they_ taught you that you didn't know already? Yukimura-kun, Sanada-kun and Yanagi-kun are all accomplished tennis players – only a fool would argue anything different about The Big Three from Kanagawa, and I don't claim to know much about Rikkai Dai's internal politics – but from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem like they take you very seriously...

"Kirihara-kun, I'll be frank with you. I don't think it's fair for your superior talents to be wasted in the shadow of those who are ultimately only interested in themselves, not when there _are_ other options._ I_ can teach you everything you want to know, and together we can elevate your game to a whole new level that by _far_ surpasses what you are now. Kirihara-kun, join us at St. Rudolph and I'll make you into the number one junior tennis player in the country. We—"

Suddenly, without warning, and in the middle of the best part of his speech, Kirihara abruptly stands up and rudely forces both himself and his racquet bag past Mizuki's dumbfounded face.

"Ojisan!" he calls out to the driver, and Mizuki can only stare. "Stop the bus!"

"What are you playing at, kid?" the old man yells back. "This isn't a stop!"

"Yeah I know, but I'll be getting off here, thanks!"

Kirihara hoists his tennis bag over his shoulder just as the bus pulls up next to a nondescript patch of Tokyo curb, and Mizuki suddenly remembers how to speak.

"Ki-Kirihara-kun, what are you _doing_?" he splutters. "Your stop isn't—"

"Listen, I still don't know who you are or what you want, but I'm getting real tired of listening to your bullcrap and I would tell you were to shove it. But I won't." And something in the freshman's green eyes tells Mizuki that he deeply regrets that this is the case. "You're lucky, 'cus buchou stays not to talk to strangers."

Then the double doors close with a low hiss and a warm puff of polluted air, and soon Kirihara is reduced to a distant dot. Mizuki sits down, deeply disturbed.

"Excuse me," he ventures. "What is the next stop?"

"Seishun Gakuen," replies the bus driver sourly, daring him to suggest anything different.

Mizuki considers his options. On one hand, he could simply call it quits for the day and go back to St. Rudolph to wallow in his failure to convince Kirihara Akaya to jump ship. But on the other, wasting a perfectly good afternoon in nothing but self-pity wouldn't be particularly constructive, especially not when there still was _work_ to be done. Besides, even with its glory days seemingly firmly behind it, there was no denying that Seishun Gakuen had been a great tennis school once; and if the rumours about Tezuka Kunimitsu-kun were true, then Seigaku could very well stand on the verge of becoming interesting again...

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to pay it a visit.


	3. C is for Conditioned

Author's Note: Oh Sanada...

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.

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_**C**_ **is** **for** _**C**_**onditioned**

#

The sun was still beating down on them when Yanagi's volley _just_ brushed the top of the net cord to roll to a final stop at Sanada's side of drab street court.

Game, set and match, thought Sanada sourly to himself; and now the score was once more in Yanagi's favour. Mattaku.

"That was a good game," said Yanagi, a small smile on his face as they stood at the net. "Ne, _Genichirou_?" he prompted.

Sanada regarded the data-specialist warily, perhaps squeezing the outstretched hand a bit too firmly. "It was," he agreed quietly, because it was pointless to deny the obvious. Still, was all this really _necessary_?

"Oh? Is there a problem?" Yanagi's drawn eyelids fluttered playfully. "…_Genichirou_?"

"There is," muttered Sanada under his breath, finally giving Yanagi back his hand while harbouring the distinct (and distinctly _sinking_) feeling that everything was about to spin rather rapidly out of his control. "Stop that."

"Stop what, exactly?" Yanagi looked far too smug and relaxed for anyone's good, especially Sanada's. "Your request needs to be more specific. After all, you can hardly expect me to comply with whatever it is that you want me not to do without telling me what it is first. Anything less would be unreasonable, wouldn't you agree, _Genichirou_?"

"Y-You know what!" Sanada exclaimed, fully aware that he was grasping at straws at this point. But even so, he hoped (against all odds and despite the mounting evidence to the contrary) that he might still appeal to Yanagi's basic humanity. "We have talked about this!"

"I suppose that we have," admitted Yanagi readily, _much_ too readily; and while he certainly didn't _look_ any different, Sanada felt sure – oh so sure – that the page boy bastard was secretly enjoying himself at Sanada's expense. "But we see each other nearly every day, so it's inevitable that many things come up in our conversations. _Genichirou_."

Sanada grit his teeth; Yanagi was going to make him say it. He was _actually_ going to make Sanada say it. "I don't mean to offend you," he grumbled insincerely. "But you know that I'm not… that I don't… which is why I would appreciate it if you could stop with this nonsense."

He then shot the other boy a look so pointed that it might have cut clean through solid stone and diamond – just to make sure that Yanagi really got the message this time – only to find that his fellow second-year was busy studying his grip tape.

Sanada was truly stunned. This… This was _unbelievable_.

"Y-Yanagi!" Sanada had never before felt so tempted to maim another human being who wasn't his idiotic older brother. "Yanagi, were you even listening?!"

"No," replied Yanagi curtly, not even looking at him.

And Sanada had to admit that he was sort of _really_ taken aback by that frank admission. Even _Yukimura_, who normally was in a league of his own, wouldn't _actually_—

"My name, Genichirou, is _Renji_." Yanagi had finally put down the damn tape and was now speaking like one might with a dimwitted child. "Repeat after me: Renji. Ren-_ji_. It's not so difficult to pronounce."

Sanada suddenly felt unacceptably small under Ren—_Yanagi_'s penetrating, close-eyed gaze.

But before anything else could be said or done, Yukimura had breezed past. "There you are!" he greeted them cheerfully. "Sanada, about training tomorrow, would you mind if—"

"I'm going home."

Yukimura watched in thoughtful silence as Sanada swooped up his tennis bag from the ground and stomped off in the direction of the gates, all while muttering under his breath.

"What's with him?" he asked at last, partly amused and partly worried. "Did something happen?"

Yanagi shrugged. "It depends, Seiichi. Define 'something'."

"Renji…" The corners of Yukimura's lips were twitching slightly. "Don't tell me that you've been bullying him again."

Yanagi scoffed, clearly offended. "Of course not," he said. "That would be both childish and counterproductive, not to mention _crude_."

Yukimura waited.

"…I _believe_," amended Yanagi reluctantly and in a measured tone, "that the word you are looking for is 'conditioning'. I was simply conditioning Genichirou."

"Ah." Yukimura smiled. So it was _that_ again. "I see."

_Tragedy_. What Yukimura saw was sheer and utter tragedy. Although, if he were to be completely honest with himself, the situation was exactly how he had envisioned it from the very start – from the moment that Renji had announcement that the three of them were now _friends_ and could thus expect to be treated as such – which, of course, in no way meant that Yukimura wouldn't actively encourage it.

"Any progress then?" he inquired politely.

"Not yet," admitted the other boy grudgingly.

"Sanada isn't the type to give up easily," Yukimura mused out loud, bouncing a few stray tennis balls into his hand.

Renji didn't answer (though he looked strangely determined), but Yukimura supposed that he could tell Sanada somewhat truthfully that at least he had tried.

"Well then," he said, smiling brightly now that matters were finally settled. "Would you mind if I served first?"

.

"Renji?" ventured Yukimura as they were packing up their things and getting ready to leave.

"Yes?"

"...just make sure he can still play tennis."


	4. D is for Déjà vu

Author's Note: Tryouts roll around again; and history has a tendency to repeat itself.

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Prince of Tennis_.

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_**D**_** is for **_**D**_**éjà vu**

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"—and then I'll be Number One!"

"Hey! You!" shouted an elderly sensei, outraged. "Get down from there!"

"..._wow_." Marui snapped his gum thoughtfully as the boy scurried off, racquet bag slung messily over one shoulder. "You know, this feels sorta familiar."

Jackal just rolled his eyes.


	5. E is for Engrish

Author's Note: Because Akaya still can't spell to 'apple' and Niou's mind rightfully boggles.

Disclaimer: _The_ _Prince of Tennis_ is unfortunately not mine. But if it was, Rikkai Dai would get a lot more attention.

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_**E**_** is for **_**E**_**ngrish**

#

"You're early," observed Marui Bunta casually, shrugging off his book bag and letting it drop to the floor with a thud. The second-year slumped on one of the changing room benches didn't answer, but that was normal enough behaviour; it wasn't until the volley-specialist, and self-proclaimed tensai of epic proportions, was halfway into his tennis uniform that he noticed that their resident baby demon was looking unusually forlorn. "Hey, what's up with you?"

"Nothing," muttered Kirihara Akaya sourly, a crumpled-up sheet of paper clenched tightly in his fist, because the last thing he needed was for Marui-senpai to get involved.

Marui cocked his head to the side, eyeing the poor abused thing in Akaya's hand curiously. "Doesn't look like nothing," he pointed out.

Akaya heaved a deep sigh; buchou was going to get _so_ mad if he ever found out. "It's none of your business, senpai."

Marui took a closer look at the dejected junior and snapped his gum excitedly. "Oh~" he practically gushed. "I _see_."

Akaya twitched, an unwanted feeling growing in his stomach.

Dread. So much dread.

"You're going to _confess_, aren't you!" cheered Marui gleefully, and he nearly died when Akaya's face fell. It was only yesterday that Jackal had treated the three of them to some well-deserved post-practise ramen, and here he was – their Akaya – about to confess to a girl and so, _so_ busted. "Well? Who is it? Is she cute?"

Akaya rolled his eyes at the mere thought. Honestly, thinking about girls at a time like this? As _if_. "It's not like that," he protested hotly.

"Come on, don't be shy!" cooed Marui. "What does it say?"

"Senpai, I told you; I'm not confessing to nobody!" snapped Akaya impatiently. "That's just a—_Hey_!"

Marui had somehow managed to swipe the white, wrinkled-up mess from his adorable kouhai's hand, and was shamelessly scanning it for any juicy content. He was, however, very quickly disappointed.

"Geez, _Bakaya_."

Marui snorted in disgust, waving the piece of paper, which most definitely was not a clumsy love declaration to some cutie, in front of his stupid kouhai's stupid face. "This stuff is _embarrassing_, even for you!"

"G-Give it!" shouted Akaya lamely, desperate to get it back before—

"Oi," grunted someone at the door. "Watch it, brat."

Akaya slowly turned around to find himself face to face with none other than Niou-senpai.

"What's this?" asked Niou Masaharu, unnaturally bright eyes slyly darting from one teammate to the other. "What are you two up to then?"

And Akaya promptly panicked with renewed energy. "Marui-senpai!" he cried, suddenly sensing a lot of imminent danger. "Don't you _dare_—"

"Catch, Niou!"

"Marui-senpai!"

"Oi, I knew you were bad at English," drawled Niou-senpai, in a voice that sent shivers of raw fear up and down Akaya's spine. "But how the hell did you manage to get 'apple' wrong?"

"I-I..." Akaya was so close to choking on his own tongue. "Give it back! _Give it_! Before buch—"

"What's going on?" demanded Sanada Genichirou from the doorway, acting on the certain knowledge that there was always something fishy going on around the tennis team.

"Nothing," mumbled Akaya for the second time of the day, as the remaining regulars quickly filed into the changing room.

Yagyuu Hiroshi adjusted his glasses. "I believe they were discussing the results of Kirihara-kun's most recent English assessment," he offered, clearly amused.

Akaya paled, then glared accusingly at Niou-senpai. This was all _his_ fault, somehow. It had to be.

"His score is quite low, is what you were going to say, am I right?" drifted Yanagi Renji's calm voice from across the room. "In fact, there is a ninety-seven percent chance that—"

"Yanagi-senpai!" pleaded Akaya in a very manly whine. "Shut _up_!"

Sanada chuckled darkly from his corner, cracking a few of his knuckles, but Yukimura Seiichi was not impressed. "Akaya," he ordered. "Come here."

"Y-Yeah?" replied the junior meekly, reluctantly inching himself towards his captain's locker.

"What's this about your English grade?" asked the third-year in an all too quiet, all too _gentle_ tone.

"Brat's failing." Niou helpfully shoved the remnants of Akaya's vocabulary test into Yukimura's hands. "Check it out. I didn't think it was possible to score less than 10%."


	6. F is for Friend

Author's Note: When Jackal met Marui. The humble beginnings of an epic friendship, told from Jackal's POV.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Or this would _totally_ be canon.

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_**F**_** is for **_**F**_**riend**

#

It was his first day at his new school and already he hated it. Hated how the students, and even some of the _teachers_, stared as he walked past; hated how the girls giggled and the boys whispered; hated how he felt so left out.

A shadow fell across his desk, and Jackal briefly wondered what kind of face he would get this time, once it had been safely established that the foreigner in fact _did_ know how to speak proper Japanese. He could sort of understand their curiosity, and even sympathized with it to a degree, but it was getting really old.

"You must be that new guy," chirped a voice cheerfully from somewhere to his right.

Jackal kept his eyes firmly on the glossy pages of the magazine open on the desk in front of him. "Yeah," he muttered unenthusiastically. "...I guess so."

But if Jackal had thought that a snappish reply would be enough to stop the conversation from developing any further, then he was sadly mistaken. "I don't know about you," began the voice thoughtfully, "but around here it's considered pretty rude not to look at people when you talk to them."

That caught his attention, and Jackal finally looked up to find a boy – around his age judging from the single pin on his uniform collar – grinning down at him.

The boy had bright red hair.

"I... I think that's pretty universal," replied Jackal quietly, vaguely annoyed to have his manners questioned by a _complete_ _stranger_ – let alone a complete stranger whose hair looked like _that_ – because what kind of crazy even did that in the first place? Jackal seriously doubted that the dye job had parental consent; though even if it had, surely there were school rules against that sort of thing?

"I was passing by and you looked kinda lonely being here all by yourself. Mind if I sit down?"

Jackal frowned. But before he had the chance to explain – that _no_, he was not lonely in the least, and _yes_, he actually minded it very much when random people suddenly decided to invade his personal space – the boy had already pulled up a chair from an adjacent desk and was making himself comfortable.

"So..." The boy cocked his head to the side. "I take it that you're not from around here then?"

"It's that obvious, huh," replied Jackal dryly, half-expecting the boy to get insulted and finally leave him (and his precious lunch break) alone.

But the boy just laughed. "Yeah, I guess it _is_ pretty obvious. So where are you from? I mean, it can't be that far. Your Japanese is better than mine!"

Jackal supposed that this was as straightforward as it was going to get, so he said simply, "My mom is Brazilian."

"That's cool." The boy seemed to mull over this new fact for a few seconds before conceding, "My mom is from Okinawa."

Jackal stared.

"Uh, so what's with the..." The boy gestured to Jackal's bald head, adding, "Everyone's talking about it."

_Oh_. Jackal's face fell, but he doubted that the boy even cared. At least this explained why he was being so nice; clearly he just wanted to be the first to get hold of the latest gossip.

And for the first time since moving to his father's native country, leaving family and friends and _tennis_ behind, Jackal felt truly angry. "What is it to you?" he snapped coldly.

The boy put up his hands defensively in front of him. "Chill!" he laughed nervously. "If you don't want to talk about it, then don't."

Jackal regarded him suspiciously; then he sighed in defeat. He was never going to make any friends if he kept this up, and this person wasn't so bad... probably.

Still, it wasn't a topic that Jackal had ever discussed with anyone before. "It's a long story," he relented, hoping that the boy would take the hint.

"That's alright. I've got time," replied the boy brightly before sliding something across the desk towards him.

But Jackal politely declined the box with 'Pocky' (whatever that was) written all over it, and instead set out to explain the best that he could. "There was someone back ho—" Luckily, he checked himself in time; Japan was home now. "Someone back in Brazil who I knew through tennis—"

"You play tennis?" interrupted him the boy eagerly.

"Yeah, I used to," admitted Jackal readily, dimly relieved that the boy was easily distracted. "But I haven't really gotten back into it again since we moved here."

The boy hummed with so much compassion that Jackal felt obliged to follow up with a, "Do you? Play tennis, I mean."

"I'm trying out for the team this year," announced the boy proudly, suddenly chewing on a thin breadstick partially covered in chocolate.

Jackal nodded to show that he understood, choosing to ignore the mess his companion was making for now. "Good luck then," he said, solemnly, because tryouts were serious business.

"Uh, thanks, I guess..." replied the boy with a sunny smile, but Jackal could tell that something about him had changed. There was a _watchfulness_ slowly creeping over him, and that hadn't been there before. "What about you? You any good or what?"

"At tennis, you mean?"

The boy quickly gave his affirmative, and for some inexplicable reason, Jackal found himself breaking out in his first genuine smile since walking through the Rikkai Dai school gates that morning. "Yeah," he said, simply. "Yeah, I think I am."

"You're pretty confident, huh."

The boy was watching him, Jackal realized, but not as a foreigner or even as a transfer newbie, but as a fellow tennis player; as a potential teammate, rival, and maybe even _friend_. He was being tested for something – right now – and in spite of himself and his initial misgivings about the boy, Jackal hoped to God that he would pass the evaluation.

"...I'm Marui Bunta." The boy held out his hand. "But most people just call me Bunta."

"Jackal Kuwahara," said Jackal as he shook it, only to realize his mistake. "Eh, Kuwahara Jackal," he was quick to amend. "Kuwahara is my family name. Sorry."

"Nah, I like Jackal better." The boy grinned. "Kuwahara is so _ordinary_, you know? No offence or anything."

Jackal resisted the sudden urge to laugh out loud; this boy, Marui Bunta, was really _weird_. But he supposed that it at least was a sort of weird that he could get used to. "None taken."

"Hey, wanna meet up after school?" asked his new friend. "I could show you the street courts around here and the good places to eat. Stuff like that. If you want, that is..."

Jackal looked at the boy and his angry red hair and wide sunny smile, and thought that maybe – _just maybe_ – his mother had been right and this place wouldn't be so bad after all. "That'd be great, Bunta-kun," he said, mindful of using an honorific. "Thank—"

The boy was suddenly doubled-over in hysteric laughter, and Jackal couldn't help but to feel a bit insulted. He had done everything right, hadn't he?

"What's so funny?" he demanded, feeling more anxious than he should.

"Please, only my grandpa calls me 'Bunta-kun' – and he's seventy-three!" The boy pointed to himself. "Bunta. Just Bunta, okay?"

Jackal nodded. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Great!" grinned Just-Bunta and held out the Pocky-box towards him again, this time more insistently. "So, Jackal, wanna try some Pocky?"


	7. G is for Genius

Author's Note: This one leans rather heavily on Rikkai Dai's player profiles (especially Yagyuu and Yukimura's) and is largely based on the events described in volume 14, chapter 119 of the manga. It probably makes more sense if you're somewhat familiar with that chapter, but basically the annoying duo Inoue and Shiba (who just happen to be the most ridiculously biased journalists _ever_) are visiting Rikkai Dai to report on the draw for the Kantou Tournament and somehow manage to stumble upon a tennis practise. Anyway, it is written from Inoue's POV, but I daresay that Rikkai Dai is full of enough sparkle, sass and win to totally make up for it ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Prince of Tennis_.

* * *

_**G**_** is for **_**G**_**enius**

#

"What now, senpai?"

"I'm not actually sure..." he admitted at length. The visitors' car park lay practically deserted around them, save for a neat row of mini-buses and the regal presence of an impossibly sleek limousine. It went without saying that the latter felt somewhat really out of place in the humble parking lot of a middle school, but Inoue had his suspicions. He frowned. "A representative from the tennis club was supposed to meet us here."

"Maybe they got tired of waiting?" suggested Shiba, who had taken to leaning against the car. "We _are_ nearly half an hour late, you know."

Inoue sighed inwardly. Honestly, as if he wasn't aware of that already. After all, _who_ had planned the entire outing in the first place, making sure that there was enough petrol in the tank and some minor refreshments in the trunk for the way back, even purchasing an extra map to keep in the car – and _who_ had insisted that they start their journey early, just in case? Sadly, a few last-minute proofreading jobs, bad traffic and his precious junior colleague's inexplicable inability to distinguish one major road from another had effectively counteracted every single one of Inoue's carefully thought-out precautions (and then some).

But a quick glance at his watch confirmed that despite the delay, there was still a good ten minutes to go before the tournament draw was to officially start, and as such it posed no direct risk to the assignment. Even so, they had hoped to squeeze in a bit of campus sightseeing. Rikkai Dai was, after all, the home of the tennis club that had won the Kantou Tournament an incredible _fifteen_ consecutive seasons. Besides, with The Big Three further asserting Rikkai Dai's dominance over the rest of the pack by claiming their second victory – in as many tries – at the Nationals the previous year, it was safe to say that Inoue was beyond excited to finally pay a visit to the famous school. And, if they were really lucky, they might even catch a glimpse or two of the tennis team in action, because it was only then that he could tell what Seigaku's chances _really_ were.

Not that Inoue's intentions weren't one-hundred percent professional, of course. Granted that he had grown rather fond of Echizen-kun and his team (and he could tell that Shiba had as well), Inoue never once lost track of his responsibilities and the fact that he first and foremost was a _journalist_, and as a _journalist_ it was his duty to the editorial, to his readers and to _Journalism_ itself to remain neutral and completely unbiased no matter what. His personal thoughts on Seigaku were irrelevant, and Inoue liked to think that he was instilling those very same values in Shiba, who might still turn out to be a credit to their profession if she would just _stop_—

"Excuse me," inquired a voice laced with the springtime of adolescence. "But are you by any chance Inoue-san and Shiba-san from _Monthly Pro Tennis_ magazine?"

Inoue turned around and found himself momentarily blinded (first by a beam of sharp light, and then by the overwhelming _yellowness_ of the boy's clothing), but he quickly snapped out of his daze to get basic introductions out of the way. "That's us," he confirmed with a smile. "I'm Inoue Mamoru, and this is my colleague..."

"Shiba Saori," filled Shiba in cheerfully. "Nice to meet you!"

"My name is Yagyuu Hiroshi," said the boy evenly – brown hair, lanky and bespectacled – bowing politely to his elders. "Shiba-san, I believe you contacted the school on your way here?"

"That's right," admitted Shiba readily before lowering her voice to a dramatic stage-whisper. "We had to call for directions after senpai took a wrong turn and got us lost again."

"S-Shiba!" exclaimed Inoue, scandalized by his co-worker's blatant lack of discretion.

The last thing he needed was for his own junior to embarrass him in front of a _middle schooler_.

"Ah, I see..." said the boy named Yagyuu, quickly pushing his opaque glasses a bit further up on the sharp bridge of his nose in a series of swift movements that were strangely reminiscent of Inui-kun and Tezuka-kun. "Then perhaps we should get going? The draw is about to start."

The youth looked to Inoue for approval. Inoue nodded.

"This way, please."

.

"The tournament draw will take place in the main auditorium," explained Yagyuu as they approached a series of imposing-looking brick buildings. "It is only a short walk from here, but if you would like to stop for any pictures, Shiba-san, we can easily arrange for—"

The majestic first bars of _The Blue Danube_ suddenly drifted through the air, and to Inoue's great surprise (mostly because even though he couldn't claim much insight into the music preferences of teenagers these days, a work by Johann Strauss II didn't exactly seem a typical choice for _anyone_'s ringtone), Yagyuu quickly fished out his phone from his shorts pocket, immediately checking the caller display.

"I'm very sorry," began the boy stiffly, "but I must answer. It might be important."

He bowed apologetically and stepped away to take the call. "This is Yagyuu..."

"Senpai," whispered Shiba in earnest as soon as their young guide was out of earshot. "How did Yagyuu-kun know that _I_'m the photographer?"

Inoue cracked a small smile. "Your camera, Shiba."

"Oh." She puffed out her cheeks. "Honestly, senpai, that—"

"—one hour then." Yagyuu was slowly making his way back towards them. "That's not a problem, I'm sure he understands. Yes, of course. Thank you, sir. I will do my best."

"Is everything alright, Yagyuu-kun?" asked Shiba worriedly once Yagyuu had put away his phone. "Did something bad happen?"

"Unfortunately, it seems that the representatives from one of the Tokyo schools are running late," reported Yagyuu with a slight frown. "The tournament draw has been postponed for an hour."

Inoue cursed his bad luck. This further delay certainly wouldn't do any wonders for the article, which was slotted for next-day publication, but he couldn't help but hoping that the Tokyo school in question wouldn't turn out to be Seigaku.

"The Director of Sports has asked me to accompany you in the meantime," continued Yagyuu smoothly. "Unless, of course, you would rather proceed to the auditorium as planned and wait there?"

"Actually, it'd be nice to just stay outside and enjoy the fresh air," chirped Shiba, and for once Inoue appreciated her impulsiveness. "We've been stuck at the office all day."

Yagyuu nodded. "Then I propose a short tour of the school grounds," he said, motioning them to follow him.

.

"What a pretty campus!" Shiba was snapping pictures left and right. "It's even prettier than Sei—"

"What Shiba _means_ to say," hurried Inoue to amend, "is that it's rare to find this kind of campus atmosphere anywhere."

Inoue cast a quick, reprimanding glance at his younger colleague, who at least had the decency to look properly sheepish. It was just an innocent slip of the tongue, but she had to learn that it wouldn't do to express such blatant favouritism on the job.

"Is that so?" asked Yagyuu politely. "Well, I suppose that the Beautification Committee at this school _is_ rather influential."

"Really? At Rikkai Dai?" Shiba briefly tore her camera lens away from a carefully arranged flowerbed. "That's a bit unexpected, isn't it?"

Yagyuu adjusted his glasses. "And why is that, Shiba-san?"

"Because, I mean, Rikkai Dai is a _sports_ school." She paused. "...isn't it?"

Yagyuu shook his head. "The swim team is improving steadily, and so is baseball, but the tennis club is our only nationally ranked sports team at the moment." Then he added, "If anything, Rikkai Dai is known for its excellence in art."

Inoue cleared his throat. "Yagyuu-kun, that building over there, is that by any chance...?"

Yagyuu nodded. "Yes. It houses the tennis club's indoor facilities."

Shiba's eyes grew wide. "Rikkai Dai has _indoor_ tennis courts?"

"Of course," replied Yagyuu with measured nonchalance. "But they're not in use at the moment."

Shiba looked around curiously. "So where does the team practise then?" she asked.

"At this time of year, outdoors, weather permitting." Inoue noted a brief glint of _something_ across Yagyuu's glasses. "In fact, would you care for a visit? As it happens, the regulars have a special practise scheduled for this afternoon."

Shiba's jaw dropped, though Inoue supposed that his own must have done much the same. "It would be an honour," he said, a bit too breathlessly, though to his defence, how often did legendary schools like Rikkai Dai willingly open their doors to the media? It happened from time to time, but only seldom, much too seldom. "But is it really okay for us to barge in on a practise like this?"

"It was the Director who suggested it," replied Yagyuu calmly. "Also, the team has been made aware of the situation, so there should be no problems."

"That's amazing, Yagyuu-kun!" cheered Shiba, camera at the ready. "Let's go!"

"_However_." Yagyuu smiled apologetically. "We would ask you to refrain from documenting any part of our training. This is, after all, just an informal visit."

Shiba deflated. "R-Right."

They walked past the indoor tennis courts, led along a thick green hedge. Then, turning sharply to the left—

Yagyuu stopped. "Rikkai Dai," he said simply.

.

In the end, it was Shiba who broke the silence. "Yagyuu-kun, I thought you said that only the regulars were playing today," she said. "But some of them definitely look too old to be middle schoolers."

Inoue turned to Yagyuu. "Old boys?" he inquired.

"To help us prepare for the Kantou Tournament," confirmed Yagyuu, discreetly gesturing to a tall boy with a black cap on his head. "They are here at Sanada-kun's request, of course."

Of course. But that was to be expected by the one they called 'The Emperor', thought Inoue. "That Sanada-kun really is Rikkai Dai's genius," he mused out loud.

"Sanada-kun is certainly exceptionally talented," said Yagyuu quietly. "But I disagree, Inoue-san."

"What do you mean, Yagyuu-kun?" Inoue asked, genuinely confused.

"I mean that it would be incorrect to claim that even Sanada-kun is 'Rikkai Dai's genius'," replied Yagyuu mildly.

"Oh." Inoue laughed embarrassedly, because how could he possibly have forgotten about _them_? "Well, I suppose there's Yukimura-kun and Yanagi-kun, too."

"Not quite, Inoue-san. You see, it's ludicrous to call any one person that..." Yagyuu lowered his voice, "Because _everyone_ is a genius here."

"_Game set, won by Sanada! Six games to three!_"

* * *

_**Omake**_

Sanada shut the door behind him, and immediately the noise around him levelled and died out.

"Niou!" he barked, causing both the Trickster and his partner to look up from their private conversation.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," drawled Niou lazily. "What?"

"You have improved," admitted the vice-captain reluctantly.

Jackal snorted. And from the showers, Marui burst out laughing.

Niou slowly took off his glasses and Yagyuu smirked.

Akaya's eyes widened.

"Puri~"


	8. H is for Hair

Author's Note: Maybe this one is somewhat off the beaten track, but Yanagi _did_ have a page boy haircut once and Yukimura _is_ really rather pretty for a boy; and I just thought that those two things ought to be addressed. Set during their first-year of middle school and ultimate proof that friends can bond over practically anything.

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ does not belong to me. Yet.

* * *

_**H**_** is for **_**H**_**air**

#

"Did you win?" inquired the boy waiting for him by the school gates.

Yanagi Renji nodded. He had. "I let senpai have the first game," he admitted. "His power shot was a little bit interesting."

The boy regarded him thoughtfully. "Don't mind them, Yanagi-kun. I think it suits you."

Yanagi smiled hesitantly. Even though he had come to expect as much from the boy whose tennis constantly made Yanagi's mind spin with new facts, revised statistics and just a little bit of envy, occasional kindness hardly meant that they were friends, now did it?

But there was something about the boy's smile (and the fact that he was ninety-seven percent certain that the boy's mother would be no more forgiving about her son staying out late than Yanagi's own) that made his mouth temporarily bypass his brain and move without permission.

"...Renji," he suddenly found himself mumbling under his breath, instantly feeling both unsure and anxious about it; because this was highly unusual and totally unexpected, and once they were spoken out loud, words could never _ever_ be taken back. (He supposed that the same went for promises, but he rather didn't think about that right now.)

The boy laughed, and Yanagi's heart collided with the soles of his shoes. "I'm sorry, Yanagi-kun, but would you mind saying that again?" he said. "I didn't quite catch it the first time."

Yanagi dared a quick glance at the boy's face. His eyes were sparkling.

"_Renji_," repeated Yanagi with a bit more confidence. "Please call me Renji from now on."

He had barely stopped speaking when a hand with five dainty, calloused fingers latched onto his. It was a firm, honest and decidedly _Western_ grip, which he supposed went at least some way in explaining the massive amount of spin that the boy generated on his forehand; and Yanagi realized then and there that there actually was a lot to be learnt about a person just from his handshake.

"Seiichi."

.

It was lunchtime, and unusually crowded, when their paths crossed in the middle of the hallway.

"Your hair..." ventured Yukimura cheerfully as he effortlessly fell into step with Yanagi's longer stride. "It nearly touches your shoulders now."

Yanagi shrugged. So what if it did; it was just hair.

"You know, Renji." Yukimura's voice was teasing. "From the back you could easily be a girl."

Yanagi peered down at his friend curiously; it was unusual for Seiichi to leave himself wide open to this sort of counterattack, but not unheard of. "Says he who gets mistaken for a girl on a regular basis," he replied mildly.

Yukimura frowned, quickly realizing his mistake. "Renji, don't you—"

"From the _front_."


	9. I is for Initiation

Author's Note: Simply because I like to think that those black wristbands _mean_ something; Akaya on how he finally became a regular on the tennis team. Also, say hello to my stupid OC, Moriyama.

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Prince of Tennis_.

* * *

_**I**_** is for **_**I**_**nitiation**

#

The road to true manhood, and the coveted yellow jersey, ended up taking him almost six boring months after he was somehow convinced to swallow his pride and join the tennis club as a lowly club member. He had been forced to wait in the wings for the longest time, his prodigious talent totally wasted on stupid first-year ball duties and even stupider swing practises that he could do just as well in his _sleep_, ignored and largely forgotten about as if he _weren't_ the greatest thing to have happened to Rikkai Dai tennis; post-The Big Three crashing the scene, anyway.

It had been _beyond_ humiliating.

Admittedly, overhearing (or maybe it had been eavesdropping) Yukimura-buchou-to-be and Yanagi-senpai talking about _him_, Akaya, _and_ _nobody else_, as their 'secret weapon' had made the wait – and the insult of being bossed around by people who weren't even any fitter, stronger, sharper, faster or better, just _older_ – a little bit more bearable.

Not that Akaya had been any _less_ ready to burst with grudge and pent-up frustration within the first month of having properly joined the team; _so what_ if Moriyama-senpai's useless friends had gotten their racquets handed to them by a freshman in front of the entire tennis club? Akaya didn't think it was such a big deal, and The Big Three certainly didn't seem to mind, but even though everyone knew that second-years Yukimura Seiichi, Sanada Genichirou and Yanagi Renji were the ones to _actually_ pull all the strings behind the scene, Moriyama-senpai had still been _buchou_ at that point – and that fact alone counted for _everything_.

So he was forced to wait for the various district, prefectural and regional tournaments to come and go, for the National Tournament to be dominated by Rikkai Dai and The Three Demons again, and for Moriyama-senpai to (finally) retire as a senpai of the club and pass the torch to buchou, before Sanada-fukubuchou tossed a pair of heavy black sweatbands at him with a short (but to the point, as was fukubuchou's style) instruction to "put them on and keep them on", or _else_.

There had been no other warning; no school-wide announcement, no grand proclamation, no _nothing_, really, which had been a tad disappointing in a way. Akaya had secretly entertained the idea that becoming a real regular on the best tennis team in the country would be an event of extreme pomp and circumstance, perhaps even a bit like being knighted. (He had always been partial to swords, even European ones; so much, in fact, that he had nearly picked kendo over tennis back in the early days when he was still a young and stupid elementary school kid.)

Still, even before fukubuchou had stomped off in a huff to yell at Niou-senpai, Akaya had felt _so_ sure that something of ultra-great importance must have happened just then; for one, Sanada-fukubuchou wasn't the type to suddenly hand out tennis accessories, not even to kick-ass tennis aces, out of the goodness of his heart (mostly because common sense dictated that Sanada-san simply did not have one, as everything would make _so much more sense_ if he turned out to be a cranky tennis robot in a flesh suit). But more importantly, The Big Three all wore identical pairs, which automatically made it _super_ significant, as did Yagyuu-senpai. Niou-senpai, Marui-senpai and Jackal-senpai also had a pair each; and while they hadn't been picked by Moriyama-senpai to star in the Nationals line-up like Yagyuu-senpai had, even Akaya had to admit that watching them play tennis at least didn't make his eyes bleed.

So seeing that everyone of some importance already wore a pair, Akaya figured that he should just do what he was told. "Che, stupid weights," he muttered to himself after pulling on both wristbands, grumbling a little just because he felt like he ought to.

"Stop complaining," sighed Jackal-senpai, suddenly materializing out of nowhere (like a ghost!) to whack Akaya over the head for supposedly being an "ungrateful brat".

But before Akaya had the chance to explain to Jackal-senpai once and for all why it was fundamentally wrong to creep up on unsuspecting super rookies like that, he was viciously attacked from behind by none other than Jackal-senpai's Best Tennis Buddy Forever.

"Eh? What's this? Are those power-wrists?" cooed Jackal-senpai's BTBF excitedly from somewhere above Akaya's head, cheerfully exploding a bright pink, sticky bubble just shy of his left ear. "Ne, check them out, Jackal! The kid has finally earned his stripes!"

"Marui-senpai!" Akaya cried out in a very manly voice, doing his best to shake himself free of Marui-senpai much in the same way a wet dog might a mudslide. "Get _off_! Or you'll get gum in my hair again!"

Luckily for all parties, that had only happened once, but Marui-senpai had taken The Gum in Hair incident hard enough to treat Akaya to a whole afternoon in the arcade; and so he reluctantly let go of Akaya's shoulders to attach himself to Jackal-senpai's side instead.

"Hey, _that_ was an _accident_," snorted Marui-senpai dismissively, Jackal-senpai shaking his bald head.

"Yeah whatever, sen—"

"What are you all doing?" inquired Yagyuu-senpai politely, arriving from one of the far courts with Niou-senpai in tow. "Oh. I see. It seems congratulations are in order, Kirihara-kun."

Akaya blinked suspiciously. Yagyuu-senpai had the whole dagger-cloaked-in-velvet thing down to perfection, making him less _overtly_ lethal than both Niou-senpai and Sanada-fukubuchou but _just_ as dangerous, and if Akaya had learnt _anything_ so far (especially from buchou who was a whole different level of scary), it was that appearances didn't count for _jack_, so it wasn't like he was about to let his guard down now.

"But what _for_, senpai?" he asked grudgingly, rightfully apprehensive of the answer, because, knowing them, it really could be _anything_.

"Look, you're one of us now," explained Marui-senpai impatiently. "Honestly, can't you figure out anything on your own? Geez, you really _are_ hopeless, Akaya!"

"Shut up!" snapped Akaya defensively before what Marui-senpai had actually said had had a chance to sink in properly.

Once it had, however, realization painted his cheeks a horrible, horrible shade of pink, and Niou-senpai had jumped at the chance to make things even _worse_ by snickering – _affectionately_, too, which made Akaya _cringe_ – from behind Yagyuu-senpai.

"Maa, it took you long enough..." Niou-senpai's icy eyes had sparkled mischievously enough for Akaya to shudder. "Piyo~"

But Akaya didn't have time to fire off the dazzling retort on his tongue, because a melodic voice had suddenly entered the fray:

"And why aren't you all practising?"

"Yo, Yukimura," smirked Niou-senpai in greeting, so devilishly that Akaya had half-expected buchou to do something to wipe it off. But three seconds passed, then three more, and Niou-senpai was still very much alive while Akaya was torn between feelings of extreme awe and severe disappointment. "We're just congratulating the brat for taking the last spot on the team."

Yukimura-buchou hadn't said anything, but his eyes softened – if only for a moment – before he kindly gave them the choice to run now or run later as punishment for slacking off.

And that, Akaya supposed (with the benefit of hindsight twenty-twenty), had been _it_ as far as initiation rites went.


	10. J is for Jelly

Author's Note: Yukimura asks for Yanagi's advice without the latter's knowledge, because it's unreasonable to think that The Child of God didn't plan ahead at least a little bit.

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ is not mine.

* * *

_**J**_** is for **_**J**_**elly**

#

Yukimura waits for just the right moment (when he can tell that even the hawk-eyed Sanada is too distracted by the sub-regulars to pay him any attention and everyone else is conveniently absorbed in the drills assigned to them by none other than Yukimura himself) to finally approach Renji, who is overseeing Akaya's volley exercises with Bunta on one of the far courts. Perhaps not the most obvious partnership in the world, especially given their distinct playing styles, but saying that the newest regular's net play is abysmal is like saying that The Child of God is capable of a decent game of tennis: a _gross_ understatement. So if Renji genuinely believes that a healthy dose of humiliation might be instructive, and ultimately rid them of this weakness, why then Yukimura is all for it.

But instead of commenting on Akaya's form, which is still horrendous and not showing any signs of improving at all, Yukimura asks in a voice gentle enough for only Renji to hear and in a tone too light to be anything other than mildly teasing:

"What do you think would happen if I weren't here?"

He then leans away slightly, confident that a well-formulated, well-articulated answer is mere moments away. This is Renji, after all, and Renji is nothing but immediate. But five seconds pass, then five more, and Yukimura briefly entertains the slim possibility that The Master simply didn't hear the question; tennis practise is a boisterous affair even on a good day, and the noise level has quite literally shot through the roof since the cold weather and off-season regulations forced the team indoors. But then again, Renji isn't the type to miss out on anything ever – and so, Yukimura simply waits.

"Could you be more specific?" Renji asks at last, quietly and without taking his eyes from the rally in front of them. "To what or whom is this happening?"

"Us, the tennis club," clarifies Yukimura with a slight frown, momentarily distracted by Akaya's pathetic excise for a drop shot. "Hypothetically speaking, of course," he is quick to add when Renji quirks a brow.

Yukimura nearly bites his tongue. Renji must not know. He must not even suspect. The sharp pain in Yukimura's legs is beginning to feel too real to be imagined, but the last thing on his mind is to make his friends worry; Renji already thinks too much as it is, and Sanada…

He doubts that Sanada would understand.

"In that case…" Renji turns to look directly at him, a thin sliver of iris the only sign that he is taking the question seriously. "Then, hypothetically speaking, it is almost a certainty that Genichirou would be captain. His leadership instincts are keener than yours, though he respects you far too much to upset the status quo and act on them."

The corners of Yukimura's mouth twist at Renji's blunt evaluation. "That's Sanada in a nutshell," he agrees. "And you?"

"If I would step up to fill the empty vice-captain slot, you mean?" Renji shakes his head. "I would do what I could to support him, but I shouldn't think so. There are others on this team far better suited for that role than I am: our Trickster, for one. Or maybe Jackal, should Genichirou insist on someone other than Niou as his second, which, of course, he most likely would."

Yukimura considers this for a moment, along with his own reasons for selecting Sanada over Renji when he trusts them both equally, despite having known Sanada for longer.

"You're probably right," he finally admits. After all, this is _Renji_, and their Renji is hardly ever wrong.

"Seiichi…" There is curiosity in his friend's voice, but also a trace of concern. "Why are we talking about this?"

"No particular reason." Yukimura shrugs in a way he hopes looks natural. "Boredom, I suppose. It has been a while since I played anyone seriously."

Renji doesn't speak – doesn't _ask_ – but he studies Yukimura all the deeper and closer in that wholly mystifying way that only Renji knows how, and for a few, mortifyingly slow beats of his heart, Yukimura fears that somehow, against all odds, Yanagi Renji has figured it out. But he quickly tells himself to stop thinking and calm down already or it'll show on your face for sure, because for all his razor-sharp intellect, The Master is also very _loyal_, and Yukimura has discovered that this dulls his senses (_somewhat_) towards those closest to him.

"But if you thought that I would declare us all lost and doomed without you," continues Renji suddenly, a little smirk playing on his lips, "…then I'm afraid that you and your ego are both sadly mistaken. Granted that we would be hard-pressed to find anyone with comparable ability among our current members, you should know that even you aren't completely irreplaceable. I can guarantee that Rikkai Dai would prevail in your hypothetical absence, Seiichi, just as it will live on long after we graduate."

Yukimura simply nods, equal parts comforted and insulted by Renji's verdict, before he stops Akaya's drills to send Bunta off to join Jackal on B Court for a more productive use of his time. He then proceeds to inform the junior in no uncertain terms that he has exactly three days to improve his atrocious volley technique or hand back his regulars jersey, assured that whether it is out of fear or anger (and Yukimura honestly couldn't care less, just as long as it gets done and done sufficiently well), Akaya will make significant improvements to his game.

And as expected, their Ace doesn't disappoint. In fact, Akaya becomes a little bit sharper and a little bit more whole for each day that Yukimura turns a little bit less certain and a little bit less solid.


	11. K is for Kaida-sensei

Author's Note: Well, what can I say; even Rikkai Dai needs a supervisor of some sort, and this is how OC Kaida-sensei met The Big Three.

Disclaimer: I own not the rights to _The Prince of Tennis_. Sigh.

* * *

_**K**_** is for **_**K**_**aida-sensei**

#

There is a loud crash as the doors at the end of the corridor are suddenly flung open, hurried footsteps echo along the empty hallway, and the heavy breathing of someone who has just scaled the stairs to the second-year floor at top speed.

_Honestly..._

And so, briefly closing his eyes to the still unacceptably _high_ pile of unmarked test papers on the desk in front of him, he puts down his red pen to instead tenderly massage his aching temples. It has been a long day – even longer than usual in more ways than one – which, to be fair, is only to be expected at this time of year: what with the academic period just starting up again, it's hardly surprising. A large chunk of the student population is still high-spirited and excitable from the summer holidays, and so goddamn _noisy_! But even so, _galloping_ through the quiet halls like some panic-stricken pony – and at a time like _this_?

_...kids these days!_

He yawns and throws a quick glance at the clock, sending a quick thought to whatever divinity that might be listening that if he could be done before five-thirty, just this once, he might avoid the worst of the traffic home and—

There is a gust of air as the door to the classroom is pulled open with enough force to slightly dislodge the large map of Japan mounted on the back wall, and several chairs fall victims to the incoming whirlwind of yellow, black and white; cue the incomprehensible babble of a frantic preteen.

"Sensei!" cries the boy. "Kaida-senseeeeeei!"

Kaida Kentarou, age thirty-seven, frowns at the intrusion, quietly mourning the loss of a _most_ useful and beloved eardrum – and that Nishiki Kouhei is usually such a pleasant and polite young man, too!

"...Nishiki-kun?" asks Kaida patiently. Truly, a teacher's job is never done, not even past regular school hours. "What on _earth_ is the matter?"

"Kaida-sensei!" exclaims the student with such fervour that Kaida finds himself leaning as far back in his chair as he can; the boy looks like he's about to explode. "You need to come to the tennis courts right _now_!"

Kaida opens his mouth to speak; but that's about it, because then, at a rapid pace and seemingly without feeling the need of neither blinking nor breathing, Nishiki blurts out his story: it seems to be about this year's tennis tryouts ("the tryouts, sensei, the _tryouts_!"), someone refusing to do the proper drills; and then there is something about somebody finally losing his temper, a tiny fresher turning out to be an absolute _monster_ ("honestly, sensei, no joke! This kid is a _machine_!"), and the whole club being in a complete _uproar_ because _nobody_ has ever seen _anything_ like it and sensei needs to hurry to the tennis courts and see for himself – right now, this_ second_ – _or they'll start a revolution for sure_!

At the end of the explanation, which really doesn't do very much to explain anything, the second-year's eyes are positively _blazing_ and Kaida is _seriously_ lost for words.

"Nishiki-kun..." he starts tentatively, because regardless of what is going on, Nishiki seems genuinely upset. "Nishiki-kun?"

But the boy just looks at him, expectantly and with a slightly unfocused glaze. So Kaida tries again.

"Nishiki-kun!"

At least that gets his attention. "...sensei?"

"Nishiki-kun, please calm down..." Kaida regards the boy seriously. "You're not making any sense."

Nishiki stares as if Kaida has just grown a second and third head right in front of him. "B-But he's in _trouble_!" he exclaims with renewed energy.

Kaida immediately straightens in his chair. Even though the tennis team has a long and stubborn tradition of essentially running itself with a minimum of adult interference, it doesn't change the fact that school rules clearly demand that all extracurricular clubs must be sponsored by at least one member of staff. "Who is in trouble?" he asks, slowly; already dreading the answer.

"Mouri-kun, sensei."

Kaida sighs. That Mouri Juzaburou-kun is an extremely talented brat, but far too cocky and abrasive for his own good. It wouldn't be the first time he has clashed with a teammate over tennis, but for the sake of campus peace, club harmony and the test papers he still has to mark—

"...alright, I'll be right there."

.

He enters the area designated for the exclusive use of the tennis club, and he knows at once that something is wrong.

It's too quiet.

"—what is going on here?" he asks the first group of students he sees.

A third-year, Yamato Naoto, points towards one of the far tennis courts. It's hardly visible behind a solid wall of yellow uniforms, and Kaida's already bad feeling _plummets_. "Oh, sensei!" whispers the boy excitedly. "You'll never believe what just ha—"

"And where the _hell_ are you going?" shouts someone angrily. "Get the _fuck_ back over there and _serve_!"

Kaida freezes; then, before he knows it, he is elbowing himself through the crows as quickly as he can, mumbling apologies as he shoves along, fervently hoping to God that Mouri at least hasn't harmed anyone this time. So he is understandably surprised – _beyond_ surprised even – to find Mouri in a pathetic heap on the ground, a small figure leaning over him with his tennis racquet neatly stowed away under one arm.

"Senpai," says the boy, who may or may not be the freshman Nishiki was talking about, mildly. "I think we should stop now..."

His voice is a mix of amusement and pity as he adds, almost as an afterthought, "You're _clearly_ not a singles player, senpai!"

Of course, that little remark has Mouri growling like some feral animal. But it is enough to break the spell; a hushed murmur of awed disapproval breaks out all around them, and Kaida finds that he has had more than enough of the foolishness.

"Stop this at once!" he barks as he swiftly steps onto the tennis court to haul one of the boys to his feet before addressing the other. "...are you responsible for this commotion?"

The boy slowly turns around, and Kaida's first impression is that the newcomer at least doesn't _look_ like your typical delinquent. But he quickly shakes that thought: appearances are often misleading, and Kaida is a firm believer that there's a first for _absolutely_ _everything_.

"Well?" he demands, impatiently.

"Hai!" admits the boy unabashedly, _much_ too cheerfully for someone who is about to get scolded. "Senpai wanted to play a match." The boy shrugs and smiles, "...I guess I got a bit carried away."

And _just like that_, for some unfathomable reason, Kaida suddenly feels more confused than ever.

"I'm Yukimura Seiichi," continues the boy brightly, as if that alone explained everything. Then, gesturing towards a tall boy with a scowl on his face, he adds, "And grumpy-face over there is Sanada."

"Yukimura," mutters the boy, Sanada, irritably, "is all this really necessary?"

The boy named Yukimura shrugs again, and Kaida takes a deep breath, determined to somehow regain the control over the situation. "Yukimura-kun," he states sternly. "This behaviour is—"

"Sensei," interjects Yukimura smoothly, regarding Kaida speculatively. "Since you're out here, I suppose that you must be..."

The boy trails off, and for one, surreal moment (and very much in spite of himself), Kaida feels a tad insulted; sure, he hasn't picked up a racquet since his college days, but he's not that out of shape, is he?

"Club supervisor." A first-year with longish hair and closed eyes suddenly speaks up, "There is a ninety-eight percent chance that he is Kaida Kentarou-sensei, second-year geography teacher and the tennis club's official supervisor."

Yukimura eyes the other boy curiously. "Thank you, um...?"

"Yanagi," replies the boy promptly. "Class 1-A. Like Sanada-kun."

"Yanagi-kun, then."

"Hai."

Sanada rolls his eyes at the spectacle, but Yukimura doesn't seem to notice and Yanagi doesn't waver. Kaida, however, _stares_.

"Kaida-sensei..." Yukimura smiles widely. "We'll be joining the tennis club from now on. Yoroshiku."


	12. L is for Line-up

Author's Note: Because in _my_ book, Rikkai Dai is the very definition of everything hardcore, badass and mind-games. The Three Demons discuss Rikkai's line-up ahead of the infamous National Tournament final against Seigaku.

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ is still not mine, dang it!

* * *

_**L **_**is for **_**L**_**ine-up**

#

They are seated across from him at the table, scarcely a full arm's length away, and so close that he can easily make out each of the tiny pieces of offending lint scattered all over the sleeves of their jerseys. But even then it is painfully clear that for all _real_ intents and purposes, they could be anywhere but in the here and now of the dark, stuffy cubicle of an office: hiding behind the black and yellow of their Rikkai Dai pride and a pair of matching, deliberately blank expressions. Not a word has been spoken since they assembled at the agreed time, some three minutes ago, not even in greeting. The air around them is heavy, thick with unresolved tension, but they have yet to meet his gaze.

He lets a new wave of disappointment wash over him. He never expected things to come to this, for them to shut him out so completely, and it stings; because, surely, he was not wrong to expect more from them? To expect better from those he never once thought of as cowards? But he can still trace Rikkai's defeat in the proud tilt of Sanada's chin and in the firm lines around Renji's mouth, because even though they may never know it, he understands. God only knows that he understands; it is precisely because of his understanding that Yukimura Seiichi cannot – will not – refuses to – accept anything less than everything, both from them and for them.

Three minutes stretch to four to five.

(It's time.)

"S-e-i-g-a-k-u," he nearly purrs, gently caressing each syllable just to see their defences crumble. "_Discuss_."

And crumble they do, immediately and spectacularly. Sanada turns away, muttering something unsavoury under his breath that Yukimura doesn't particularly care for, because Renji is digging into his right trouser pocket, quietly withdrawing a piece of paper neatly folded exactly in half. Not five seconds later, long, thin fingers have pushed it to the table's midpoint – towards Yukimura – before slowly retracting.

"'Tezuka Kunimitsu, Oishi Shuuichirou, Inui Sadaharu, Fuji Syusuke, Kikumaru Eiji, Kaidou Kaoru and Echizen Ryoma,'" reads Yukimura out loud. "Oh. I see."

"It's an interesting line-up," volunteers Yanagi dryly. "But even so, it's far from unexpected."

"At least it is creative," admits Yukimura grudgingly. Then he adds, with a bemused smile ghosting over his lips, "It's that Inui-kun's work, I suppose?"

"Not exclusively, no," explains Yanagi at length, because Sadaharu's involvement in Seigaku's final selection is substantially less prominent than he had thought. "I... I think they might be up to something, Seiichi."

"Seigaku is about to star in its first National Tournament final in over twenty-five years," remarks Yukimura wryly as he hands the list of names over to Sanada. "Yes. I expect that they are."

Sanada snorts. "Whatever they do, it's useless!" he declares heatedly, before flinging the piece of paper down on the table in front of him, face-down and unread. "In the end, Rikkai will win."

There is a fire in Sanada's eyes, and the conviction in his voice has even Renji sitting a little taller than before. Maybe it is this – confidence – that has been lacking lately, because their embarrassing meltdown at the Kantou Tournament to one side, Rikkai Dai is just one victory away from clinching the whole Championship for the third year running; it is just one victory away from rewriting history as the most successful tennis club the junior tennis circuit has ever seen.

Their mission statement suddenly seems ridiculously clear: the sooner Seigaku is put back in its place, the better. And so, strangely reassured by Sanada's outburst, though in no way placated (and he won't be until the Triple Crown is theirs), Yukimura turns his attention to Yanagi. "Now then, Ren—"

"How sure are we that this is the line-up Seigaku brings to the final, was what you want to say," interjects Yanagi smoothly, "am I right?"

He is, of course; Yukimura smiles inwardly. Renji is hardly ever wrong. "You read my mind. Well?"

"Unless someone is forced to pull out at the last second..." Yanagi trails off, deliberately stopping just short of a promise, but only _just_.

Good, thinks Yukimura; so it is practically a done deal. Then out loud he inquires, "Shall we continue?"

Sanada crosses his arms over his chest and leans further back in his chair. "Let's get on with it!" he barks impatiently.

Yanagi nods obligingly. "I have devised a preliminary order based on Seigaku's line-up," he says, carefully weighing his words. "But I would like to hear your thoughts first."

It is addressed to them both, but Yanagi automatically turns to Sanada, as does Yukimura, because even though it is chiefly Yanagi who generates the plans and masterminds the strategies for Yukimura's approval, Sanada _always_ has the first say.

"...I don't care about the others." Sanada clenches his fist. "But leave Tezuka to me!"

"It's about time that you two met in an official match," agrees Yukimura readily. "And since your opponent is Tezuka, you'll get to use _that_."

"Aa," replies Sanada, slowly relaxing into a smirk. "I've been looking forwards to it."

"A match against Tezuka..." Yanagi regards them thoughtfully. "That puts you in Singles 3, Genichirou."

"_Singles 3_?" repeats Sanada sharply.

Yanagi nods once. "That is correct."

"Tezuka is not Seigaku's Singles 1?" asks Yukimura as Sanada demands, "Why?"

"Echizen," states Yanagi simply in explanation.

"...they're putting that _brat_ in Singles 1?" explodes Sanada. "That's tarundoru!"

"Nonsense," cut Yukimura off sternly. "Remember, that 'brat' defeated you not too long ago."

"I underestimated him that time," mutters Sanada sourly. "It was a mistake."

"You let your feelings cloud your judgement, Sanada," replies Yukimura coolly. "But you weren't the only one."

To his credit, Yanagi doesn't flinch.

"Maa, I'll take care of that Echizen-kun," continues Yukimura breezily. "I want to meet the boy who somehow beat Rikkai's Emperor."

"So this is how you plan on restoring Genichirou's honour, then: destroying the person who defeated him?" Yanagi raises an eyebrow inquisitively. "That is unexpectedly cruel of you, Seiichi."

"Life is cruel." Yukimura's eyes flash. Dangerously. Darkly. Bitterly. "Why should tennis be any different."

Yanagi opens his mouth as if to say something, perhaps even to apologize for his thoughtlessness, but Sanada is quicker. "Don't bother, Yukimura," he grumbles. "I'll get my own honour back once I beat Tezuka."

"You might not even get a chance to play as our Singles 1," points Yanagi out. "Seiichi, if you were to choose Singles 2 instead—"

"I _want_ Singles 1, Renji." Yukimura sets his jaw defiantly. "Besides, I have no interest in doing battle against Fuji-kun. I rather not play at all than having my match end too quickly."

"That Fuji is a slippery one," comments Sanada grimly. "He showed that in his match against Kirihara."

Yukimura cocks s brow bemusedly. "Oh? Are you trying to say that Seigaku's Fuji-kun is too much for me to handle, Sanada? Or perhaps that Akaya and I are at the same level?"

Sanada rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid," he scoffs. "You know what I meant."

Yukimura sighs. "Relax, Sanada. I'm just teasing."

Sanada harrumphs to himself, and Yukimura turns his attention back to Yanagi. "So what do you think about all this, Renji?"

"If the Fuji who refuses to let even his own teammates collect his true data might be a worthy opponent for the master of data tennis, is what you mean to say, am I right?"

A small smile spreads over Yukimura's lips. "You tell me," he says quietly.

"...possibly," replies Yanagi mildly.

Sanada scowls. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he demands.

"It means exactly what I said, Genichirou." Yanagi presses the tips of his fingers together, studying his friends seriously. "It is certainly an interesting proposition, but I have a better alternative in mind."

"Who then?" asks Yukimura impatiently. Renji isn't usually this cryptic.

Yanagi's carefully schooled features give way to a small smirk. "Niou," he says.

As expected, Genichirou looks deeply scandalized at the mere suggestion, but he is quickly reduced to incoherent splutters when Seiichi finally intervenes. Also just as expected. "You want to pit our Trickster against their Tensai..." Yanagi sees the curiosity in Seiichi's eyes and knows that he has won. "Why?"

Yanagi shrugs. "It's one dark horse against another."

"Don't be absurd!" protests Sanada. "Yukimura, tell him!"

Yukimura frowns. Sanada has a point, but Renji isn't the type to suggest anything without perfectly logical reasons. "...Niou can have Singles 2," he says at last.

(But only because I trust you.)

Yanagi nods.

(I won't let you down.)

"Then what about doubles?" asks Sanada tersely. Mattaku, and here Yukimura accuses _them_ of being overly sentimental. "Who are Seigaku sending out as their Doubles 1?"

"Their only nationally-ranked doubles combination, the so-called 'Golden Pair', Oishi and Kikumaru," replies Yanagi quickly. "What speaks strongly for this pair is their achieving synchro."

"Even so, they still lost their match against Hyoutei." Sanada snorts. "That's tarundoru!"

"Sanada is right," agrees Yukimura. "A one-off occurrence hardly constitutes a real threat. Let's have Yagyuu and Akaya take care of them. They have played together before, and Akaya could do with the experience."

"Perhaps, Seiichi, but Hiroshi wouldn't be able to control Akaya should anything happen."

"You expect it to?" prompts Yukimura, genuinely curious.

Yanagi's smile is fond. "A lot of things tend to happen around our youngest."

"It's Marui and Jackal then," declares Sanada. "Doubles 1 will be over quickly."

Yukimura smiles; as far as he is concerned, that match is already won. "That only leaves Doubles 2," he says instead.

"And three players," adds Sanada gruffly. "Yagyuu, Kirihara and you, Renji."

"I'm afraid that our Gentleman will have to sit this one out."

Yukimura frowns. "Yagyuu is the more experienced doubles player of the two, Renji."

"That is true," admits Yanagi. "But I prefer Akaya."

"Why?" demands Sanada. "Why _Kirihara_ of all people?"

"_Because_, Genichirou," explains Yanagi nonchalantly, "Kaidou Kaoru, Sadaharu's presumed doubles partner, is widely believed to be Tezuka's successor at Seigaku."

Yukimura's lips split into a wide, feral grin. Perfect.

"Akaya is the only regular to return next season," continues Yanagi. "And as you said yourself, Seiichi, he could really do with the experience."

"Renji," mutters Sanada. "What about that Inui?"

(Is it really alright?)

"No need to worry, Genichirou," replies Yanagi lightly. "I am, after all, primarily a doubles player."

(I appreciate your concern, but I must do this. I also have someone I need to defeat.)

Yanagi doesn't say, because he's a sneaky bastard, but Sanada thinks he understands anyway.

(Aa. Crush him.)

Yanagi smiles the lopsided smile he reserves for special occasions.

(Consider it done.)

"Maa..." Yukimura picks up the list of Seigaku's line-up and crumples it into a small ball in his fist. "I don't know about you, but I think this is going to be interesting."

(Bring it, Tezuka. We're ready. Rikkai Dai is ready. Bring it.)


	13. M is for Mannerisms

Author's Note: The more I *think* I understand the complex creature that is Niou, the more he seems to me like a sleeker, more mischievous version of Yanagi. This one is set shortly after the National Tournament of their second year of junior high.

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Prince of Tennis_.

* * *

_**M**_** is for **_**M**_**annerisms**

#

He is probably the second to last person Niou would expect to find loitering around campus at this hour, but there is absolutely no doubt about it: it _is_ him.

(There is, thinks Niou as he walks up to his unsuspecting teammate, after all only one Yanagi Renji in these parts of the world, which is just as well, really, because even that feels like a hell of a lot too much sometimes.)

"Yo."

Yanagi turns around a millisecond too quickly, and that immediately puts Niou on edge. Because the Yanagi who knows how to boss around Sanada without the latter's knowledge – and who masterminded Rikkai's unconditional victory at the Nationals only a few, short months ago – is far too shrewd, far too careful and thinks far too much like Niou (for Niou's liking) to suddenly be guilty of such a rookie mistake. No, Yanagi's reaction is too smooth, too casual, too deliberate to be natural, and it can only mean that this must be premeditated too.

(This, Niou realizes at once, is staged and planned down to the smallest detail; it has to be. Yanagi is seeking him out for something, he's sure of it now, because there is reason behind everything that Yanagi says and does, especially behind the things that he holds back. Niou accepts the challenge, just as he supposes that Yanagi expects him to, because two can play this game. But he refuses to take the bait; Yanagi will have to come to _him_.)

And so he dons an appropriately disinterested expression, lifting two fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute. "If it isn't our strategist," he drawls. "Practise ended over an hour ago, piyo~"

Yanagi regards him impassively with his usual, closed-eyed gaze. "True," he admits. "But there was something I needed to do."

Bullshit, thinks Niou, but out loud he says, "Then don't let me keep you."

He gives a vague wave over his shoulder and sets off in the direction of the school gates at a leisurely pace. It comes like a great shock to neither of them when Yanagi falls into step with him a few seconds later.

"Are you on your way home then, _Masaharu_?"

Niou stops walking. He's well aware of Yanagi's penchant for calling the people he knows well by their first names (and given that Yanagi and Niou are precisely what they are and see each other nearly every day of every week, it was always only a matter of time), but he must admit that it is a whole different thing to actually hear it. "Only my mom calls me that," he says, weighing his words with care. "And _you_, apparently."

"Does it bother you?" asks Yanagi promptly, and Niou can practically hear the little cogs in his mind turn; call it a sign of genius or obsessive-compulsive tendencies, but this makes even The Master extremely predictable in his own way.

"It depends." He regards Yanagi slyly. "Are you my mother?"

Yanagi snorts. Niou grins, quietly satisfied to have learnt that Yanagi's eyes in fact are brown.

And that is that. They pass through the gates in silence.

Except it isn't over yet, and Yanagi's voice is unexpectedly mild when he says, "We're not that different from one another."

Niou raises an eyebrow at this. "In what ways are we the _same_?"

"For one, you are no less analytical than I and I am no less observant than you." Yanagi pauses. "There are some other aspects as well."

Niou regards Yanagi suspiciously, because this thing just escalated way past 'Masaharu' and a bunch of Yanagi's weird quirks. But somehow, Niou thinks he understands.

(And he catches a small part of him thinking that this conversation probably is long overdue anyway.)

"Then let me ask you something," he says at last, dead serious now because this is a sensitive subject for the both of them. "What does your data say about _me_?"

He secretly braces himself for fireworks and harsh words, but Yanagi doesn't look at all surprised or even irritated. "It tells me more than you seem to think," he replies dryly. "I admit that much of it is conflicting, but even that is useful."

Niou frowns.

(This is not the answer he was expecting.)

"Which reminds me—" Yanagi reaches into the deep, dark depths of his tennis bag and pulls out something rectangular, roughly the size of a book. "I thought you might find this interesting," he says. "So I asked for an extra copy."

Niou stares at the video tape held out to him. "…who?" he asks.

"Shitenhouji's Shiraishi Kuranosuke," replies Yanagi smoothly. "This is a compilation of his matches. _All_ of his matches."

"Why give it to me?" inquires Niou bluntly, because _nobody_ is supposed to know about this one yet.

"No particular reason." Yanagi shrugs. "Like I said, I thought you might find it interesting."

Niou mutters something unintelligible under his breath.

"You're very welcome, Niou." Yanagi smiles mildly. "After all, there is always next season to prepare for."

And with one last razor-sharp glance and a curt nod, Yanagi breaks off in the opposite direction, and Niou soon loses sight of him.

He turns the video tape over in his hands, and it's only then that he notices the small piece of paper lodged between the tape and its protective sleeve:

_Please make sure to pay special attention to 3:22-5:02, 16:03-18:10 and 51:13-54:14. I think you'll find those sequences particularly helpful._

_- Renji_


	14. N is for Nurture

Author's Note: "The **nature versus nurture** debate concerns the relative importance of an individual's innate qualities versus personal experiences in determining or causing individual differences in physical and behavioural traits" – as sourced directly from _Wikipedia_, which clearly makes it the one and only Truth.

(Or not.)

But there you have it. Because something should be said about Yanagi, Sanada and the _massive_ amount of work that I'm sure goes on behind the scene. Set within the dreary confines of an empty locker room sometime after Yukimura's hospitalization (so December-ish if we're to trust the Pair Puri timeline), this one is all about the magnificent problem child that is Kirihara Akaya and the 'nurture' part of the equation.

And on a side note, I honestly think that Yanagi's special brand of cruelty is far worse than Sanada's Fist of Doom, because how do you go about healing wounds that don't scar?

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ is not mine.

* * *

_**N**_** is for **_**N**_**urture**

#

"...and there went another one," muttered Sanada tersely over his shoulder. "What excuse are we going with this time?"

The Master smiled knowingly at his own reflection, administering the last, finishing touches to the stripy length of cheap fabric around his neck, completely unfazed by the sudden outburst. It was a little-known fact, even among themselves – and judging from the remarkable speed at which regulars and non-regulars alike had dispersed in all kinds of directions as soon as practise had ended, it seemed likely to remain the case at least for the foreseeable future – but for all his infamous quirks and various moods, Rikkai Dai's 'demon' Emperor was actually mostly perfectly harmless. Of course, that said, it wasn't like Sanada Genichirou to sulk in peace for very long, although it certainly was unusual for him to willingly break his self-imposed silent treatment. But then Yanagi supposed that despite his cold exterior (or, perhaps, indeed _because_ of it), Genichirou was the sort of person who _would_ get upset about these things quite easily... Well, he would just have to remember to be considerate.

"Genichirou," began Yanagi kindly, "don't you think you're overreacting? After all, it _was_ only a sprained ankle."

Sanada took a deep breath, carelessly shoving his still damp towel into one of the side compartments of his tennis bag. "That Kenji had to be carried to the infirmary on a damn _stretcher_!" he snarled accusingly.

"Yes... Hardly anything life-threatening," commented Yanagi dryly from his corner of the room, calmly shrugging on a sweater. "Though, I must say, your concern for his wellbeing is really rather touching."

"The school..." Sanada felt compelled to point out, with forced calm, through gritted teeth. "The school is going to ask _questions_. And what about the _parents_?"

Yanagi's lips curled sharply at the corners. With everything else going on in their lives, Genichirou was seriously concerned about this? Oh, _please_.

"Details."

Sanada heaved a loud, frustrated sigh, slamming the door to his locker shut with a resounding bang, and The Master supposed that he might have overstepped his mark, just a little, maybe.

"Yes, yes, I'll stop my teasing," conceded Yanagi graciously. "But honestly, Genichirou, you shouldn't worry so much. Let me handle this. I'll think of something."

Sanada scoffed. "Aa," he agreed darkly, struggling with his tie. "I'm sure you will."

"But that's not the point, was what you wanted to say, isn't it?" remarked Yanagi mildly, reaching for his coat. "And before you ask: yes, you really _are_ that easy to read."

Sanada harrumphed, barely biting back the scorching retort on the tip of his tongue. He knew only too well that now was not a good time to pick a fight. Not after everything that had happened – _was_ still happening – and especially not with Yukimura still at the... at the... Hell, Sanada didn't even want to _think_ about it. But it certainly wasn't easy not to, when it was plain as day for anyone to see that Kirihara, who had always struck Sanada as just as a few uncrossed wires away from a total meltdown anyway, was getting out of control. It was nothing short of a damn _miracle_ (undoubtedly brought about by a benevolent someone, probably Yagyuu, and his shameless meddling) that the junior hadn't been reported to the school yet, but for some inexplicable reason, Yanagi Renji was mostly ignoring the whole situation. In fact, The Master seemed completely indifferent to Kirihara's increasingly erratic behaviour and Sanada could not – _would not_ – let that go, because even without Yukimura there to lead them, they were still Rikkai Dai, dammit!

"Renji," he muttered, zipping up his racquet bag. "This is unacceptable. We can't—"

"_If_ you are referring to this afternoon's incident, we both know _that_ could _easily_ have been helped."

Sanada cringed inwardly. It was at once painfully obvious (in that entirely strange but special way that only a friend understands) that Yanagi, who normally was all closed eyes, sky-high confidence and completely unruffled feathers no matter what was thrown in his direction, was on the defensive. The curt, guarded undertone that had crept into his voice reminded Sanada far too much of broken glass for comfort – hard and harsh and unbearably sharp, but at the same time so unexpectedly brittle – and that was not okay.

"Akaya's style of tennis is well-known to all members," continued Yanagi flatly. "As is his training schedule, which specifically restricts his opponents to regular or pre-regular level only. Kenji-kun, who is neither, was aware of this when he challenged Akaya to that match."

Sanada turned around on his heel to come face to face with The Master. "You... You're actually _defending_ such uncontrolled behaviour?" he demanded.

"Of course not, you're jumping to conclusions, Genichirou!" snapped Yanagi. "But Akaya knows that he was wrong to waste 'Bloodshot' on such a weak opponent."

"...does he?" Sanada pulled on his own heavy winter coat. "Sure could've fooled me."

"I know what you're thinking, but excluding Akaya from club activities would only make matters worse." Yanagi's locker door suddenly swung shut. "Not only that," added The Master coolly as the combination lock clicked in place. "...Seiichi would _never_ allow it."

"But Yukimura isn't here to decide anything," replied Sanada bluntly, because as much as it hurt to say it out loud, there was no point in pretending that he was involved in the everyday running of things anymore. "Besides, at the rate the brat is going, very soon even he wouldn't have much choice."

The Master looked down at his hands in defeat. It didn't take a genius to understand why Akaya was even angrier than usual, and that he was dealing with the emotional overload the best that he could by taking it out on absolutely everyone around him, but even Yanagi had to admit that today had been particularly brutal. Kenji Kazuma was not the first member to fall victim to Akaya's on-court violence since that incident with Seiichi – in fact, Kenji-kun was the _third_ – nor was he likely to be the last. So, in his own way, Genichirou was right to be suspicious of Akaya's behaviour. They had known from the start that his playing style was naturally intense, even encouraging it at times, but something would have to be done about the situation.

"...I'll talk to Akaya again," said Yanagi, quickly wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"_Talk_ to him?" Sanada snorted dismissively. "Like talking has done us any good before."

Yanagi's lips were a thin, taut line. "You know what I think about _that_," he said, quietly picking up his tennis bag from the floor and walking towards the door.

"What choice do we have?" called Sanada out after him. "Renji, this can't go on! I won't stand for it."

(_We_ can't stand for it.)

"Then what do you propose we do, exactly?" asked Yanagi coldly, putting on his shoes. "Backhand him every time he gets overexcited?"

Sanada shrugged. "Kirihara lacks self-discipline," he declared, reaching for his own pair of shoes.

"—and you think you can beat it into him?"

The Master didn't expect an answer, nor did he receive one. Instead he watched The Emperor finish tying his shoelaces, then stepping forward to hold open the door for them both to exit through.

"Genichirou..." he ventured once they were outside in the cold dark. The air was heavy with an overwhelming stillness, and he was quite certain that it would snow later. "He's not an animal."

There was a sudden click, and Yanagi caught a brief glimpse of something metallic before Genichirou slipped Seiichi's key back into his pocket.

"Why are you telling _me_?" said Sanada gruffly, at once unable and unwilling to look the other boy in the eye. "..._I'm_ not the one playing ringmaster."

And with that, The Emperor muttered his goodbyes and left.

The Master stood in front of the locked door for a long, long time.


	15. O is for Old boys

Author's Note: The Three Demons discuss something very important. Set after the Nationals, sometime in September when term has resumed after the summer holidays. Also, please note that one of the PairPuri volumes mentions that Yanagi's parents run a boarding house and that the Troika used it for a training camp during their second year.

Disclaimer: Not mine, okay?

* * *

_**O**_** is for **_**O**_**ld boys**

#

"Renji," says Yukimura suddenly, apropos absolutely nothing at all, "remember that training camp at your house last season?"

Yanagi promptly chokes on a mouthful of rice.

Granted that this in itself isn't an entirely unexpected topic of lunchtime conversation, but The Child of God hasn't breached the subject of tennis (not _voluntarily_ anyway) even once since the dramatic conclusion to the National Tournament – and that was nearly a whole month ago.

Good Lord, _finally_! thinks Yanagi to himself (before panic and asphyxiation have a chance to really kick in, that is), because, frankly, it's about damn time that Seiichi got over it. High school is just around the corner, and they have everything to plan for.

"C-Consider it done!" croaks Yanagi pathetically as a particularly rock-hard slap (courtesy of the ever-vigilant Sanada, who else?) hits him squarely between the shoulder blades.

"Mattaku," mutters Sanada disapprovingly under his breath, swiftly handing Yanagi a bottle of water once the former deems the latter's chance to live sufficiently high. He then leans back in his seat, frowning as The Master wrenches off the bottle cap to chug the contents desperately. "Be more careful next time, Renji!"

Yanagi nods, messily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and vaguely relieved that it's just them on the rooftop today; though it must be said that he is mostly grateful to no longer be suffocating on his mother's love.

"…how many to join us?" he finally asks with as much dignity as he can muster.

"Oh, just us, I think." Yukimura's smile is pale, but it is a genuine smile nonetheless. "I don't think your parents would appreciate a complete invasion."

The Master briefly stops to consider the terms of Yukimura's request. After all, 'us' could mean a number of things and combinations, but he decides that Seiichi (unlike last time) probably means all the regulars. And Yanagi figures that this is acceptable, given that his parents are mostly reasonable people and that the holiday season is mostly over anyway, but the proposition does leave one, rather significant question unanswered:

"What about Akaya?"

Yukimura pokes at a pickled plum. "Leave him out," he says simply. "He'll have other responsibilities."

Yanagi nods, and digs into his own obento with renewed energy. Well. He had expected as much.

Sanada, on the other hand, looks unconvinced. "So you're really doing it, then?" he demands.

"Yes. I am." Yukimura's eyes flash, and for a second, Yanagi catches a glimpse of Seiichi as he _was_ – as he _used_ to be – _before_. "Got a problem with that, Sanada?"

"You know what I think," replies Sanada steadily. "He's not ready."

Yukimura _sneers_; and Yanagi suddenly forgets all about his food. "Your concerns are your own business, Sanada," he murmurs. "Make sure to keep them that way."

Sanada sighs. "I'm not denying Kirihara's value as a tennis player," he says. "But raw talent alone doesn't make a good captain, experience does, and the brat knows nothing about leadership other than how to fear and defy it. How can you expect someone like him to inspire Rikkai Dai to victory when he doesn't even understand that?"

"He'll learn." Yukimura's voice is clipped. "Do you think that _I_ had any experience when Moriyama-senpai made me captain? Or are you saying that it was my 'inexperience' that prevented us from claiming the Triple Crown?"

Sanada looks pained. "Don't be ridiculous," he mutters. "That's completely different."

"Is it?" Yukimura crosses his arms over his chest. "Then answer the question, Sanada."

"This isn't about _you_, Yukimura," replies Sanada quietly. "It's about Kirihara, and whether or not he is capable of leading a team all the way to the Nationals and _win_. I'm not sure he is."

The Child of God cocks a brow condescendingly. "And your point is…?"

Sanada bristles. "Yuki—"

"Really, Sanada." Yukimura's smile is hard and brittle. "You're so naïve sometimes, and very wrong if you think that I care about your opinion in this. Akaya is succeeding me as captain, with or without your approval!"

"You're being too reckless!" bites The Emperor back. "And I will _not_ stand by and watch this ruin everything we have worked so hard to accomplish."

"Is that so? That's very selfish of you, Sanada," comments Yukimura sweetly, while savagely stabbing through his plum with his chopsticks.

Even Yanagi raises an eyebrow at the rather blatant provocation, but seemingly unperturbed, Sanada replies, "I only want what's best for the team."

"But you're not captain." Yukimura suddenly regards him coldly, suspiciously. "…or are you questioning that, too?"

Sanada recoils as if he has been slapped. "Yukimura, I…"

"_What_, Sanada?" snaps The Child of God impatiently.

The Emperor stands up. "I'm leaving," he announces.

"Oh?" Yukimura tilts his head to the side. "Why? Are you afraid to face me all of a sudden?"

Sanada dusts stray breadcrumbs from the front of his trousers, then roughly shoves his bento box back into his school bag. "I don't see the point in continuing this conversation," he mutters darkly. "Not when it's obvious that you're just going to twist everything I say."

"…I'll see you in class, Renji."

Yanagi sighs inwardly. Even though this is hardly the first time Genichirou has walked away in a huff over something Seiichi said or did (or failed to say or do), effectively leaving it up to Yanagi to pick up the pieces and to somehow broker new peace between them, he knows that it is crucial that the three of them are an united front on this particular issue. After all, Rikkai Dai's reputation and Akaya's tendencies towards violence make the question of succession thorny enough as it is.

"Seiichi," begins Yanagi calmly as soon as Sanada is out of earshot, "was that really necessary?"

"He was _questioning_ me, Renji," replies Yukimura angrily. "Sanada was _questioning_ my ability as a leader!"

The Master frowns. Seiichi certainly knew how to be deliberately petty. "Genichirou did nothing of that sort," corrects him Yanagi patiently. Then he adds, "And I think you know that, Seiichi."

Yukimura's eyes narrows in accusation. "So you're taking _his_ side then?"

"This is not about sides." Yanagi regards The Child of God thoughtfully. "But I assure you that I understand your dilemma."

"…do you?" Yukimura's voice practically drips with sarcasm. "_Really_ _now_."

"Yes. Really," replies The Master quietly. Renji is not Genichirou, and Seiichi will not win this one. "On one hand, Akaya is strong enough to beat anyone. We trained him to be. But Genichirou has a point, Seiichi. I certainly can't control him. You saw that for yourself in our match against Seigaku."

Yukimura deflates a little. "A captain isn't remembered just for his own achievements while he was captain, but for the things he leaves behind," he mumbles. "Akaya won't let us down, Renji. He'll pick up right where we left off."

"Yes." Yanagi nods. "I should think so."

"So we're agreed," concludes Yukimura triumphantly.

"Seiichi…" says The Master sternly. "That is _not_ how this works."

"But he—" Yukimura looks almost pleading. "Renji, Sanada doesn't _think_ like we do!"

The Master actually laughs out loud. (Well, he chuckles.) _Of course _Genichirou doesn't think like them – and Genichirou wouldn't – because Genichirou is the kind of person who enjoys head-on challenges and quick, straightforward attacks. He doesn't take pleasure in dismantling his opponents piece by piece, dissecting their parts until there is nothing left of the whole, like Yanagi does; nor does he feel compelled to obliterate anyone like Seiichi with his ruthless mind-games. No, Genichirou's mind works completely differently in that regard, but that's the whole point, isn't it?

"…fine," admits Yukimura at last, reluctantly, partly disgruntled and partly embarrassed. "I suppose that I owe that stubborn oaf an apology, don't I?"

Yanagi happily agrees, and proceeds to neatly pack away the remnants of his lunch. He has more important things to worry about. "Well then," he says, "I'll see you later, Seiichi."

"And where are you off to in such a hurry?" asks Yukimura, clearly puzzled. "Lunch break is far from over, you know."

"I'm going to find Genichirou," explains Yanagi nonchalantly over his shoulder. "_Someone_ needs to keep the peace around here."


	16. P is for Protégé

Author's Note: Because it certainly wasn't Yukimura who made Akaya into the tennis player he is today. It couldn't have been. Set two days after The Child of God finally returns to the tennis club after his long absence.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Prince of Tennis_.

* * *

_**P**_** is for **_**P**_**rotégé**

#

He supposed that the day was decent enough. The sun was out and the sky up above so blue that it was almost blinding, and all around them tennis racquets were being swung in perfect unison and laps sprinted to the comforting backdrop of steady thwacks, low grunts and occasional shouts of instruction. To the untrained eye, it was the very picture of orderly, efficient and completely committed club activity, but to Yukimura Seiichi it was little more than an average afternoon practise – a passable effort at best – because now, if any, was the time for everyone to get serious, and it was his duty as captain of the ship to whip his team into shape. After all, '_work hard, play harder and never _ever_ lose_' was the Rikkai Way, and that was all there was to it.

But The Three Demons had barely retired to their usual corner to quietly plot the course of their third, consecutive victory when the peace was suddenly very much disturbed.

"Oi~!" rang a voice excitedly from a few courts over. "Fukubuchou! Fukubuchou, I'm done!"

Yukimura turned his head ever-so slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of something black and yellow (and loud) galloping towards them at top speed. He didn't think much of it, however, confident that Sanada would immediately take care of whatever was going on.

"Fukubuchou! Fukubuchou!"

Yukimura raised an eyebrow questioningly at his vice-captain; Sanada looked thoroughly pained for some reason, unlike Renji who couldn't quite contain his amusement. The Child of God frowned. Sanada was behaving very strangely, Akaya was disturbing practise and—

"_Oi, Sanada-fukubuchou_!"

Finally, partly curious and partly annoyed, Yukimura proceeded to elbow the unresponsive Sanada in the ribs none too gently. "I suppose that you could keep pretending not to hear him..." he murmured. "But I doubt that will make him go away."

Sanada muttered something under his breath, while glaring evilly at Renji, who clearly possessed some crucial piece of information that Yukimura did not and was sporting a wry grin.

"Fukubuchou! Yanagi-senpai!" exclaimed Kirihara Akaya in earnest. "Ne, _ne_, did you see my matches?"

"Yes," admitted The Emperor reluctantly for the both of them. "Yes, we saw."

"_And_...?" prompted the second-year shamelessly, in a Let-me-play-in-the-National-Tournament! sort of way, his bright eyes flitting back and forth between the two upperclassmen expectantly. "I did good, right? ...I finished off the last one really quickly, too!"

"Tarundoru!" announced Sanada sternly, but not entirely unkindly. "Victory isn't about speed; it's about the quality of your game!"

"—which _is_ improving," was Yanagi quick to add when Akaya's face fell. "You did well, Akaya."

"Eh...?! Honestly? You really think so, senpai?" Akaya was practically glowing with pride when he turned to smirk triumphantly at Sanada. "See? See—? At least Yanagi-senpai thinks I—"

"That said, your backswing is looking a little slow." Yanagi regarded the junior, who was fairly buzzing with adrenaline, fondly. "I have set up a ball machine with your usual settings on Court D."

"Okay, got it, senpai."

Akaya grinned, only to (finally) take notice of Yukimura's presence as well. "Oh, buchou, I..." He trailed off awkwardly, suddenly looking embarrassed and guilty and unsure and surprised all at once. "Uh, Yanagi-senpai said to practise my backswing, so, eh... I'll be going then!"

Yukimura nodded and waved him along without a word, watching the boy run off to his designated tennis court.

"It's not deliberate," said Yanagi in a low voice. "He simply hasn't gotten used to all this yet, Seiichi."

"It has only been a few days," added Sanada gruffly. "Things will get back to normal soon enough."

Yukimura nodded, quietly wondering since when, exactly, the no-nonsense Sanada had taken to be so protective of their youngest. It was all rather sweet, he thought; if just a bit unexpected, perhaps.

But then a lot was bound to have changed during his absence, and Yukimura supposed that things were simply how they were meant to be.

"You know..." The Child of God mused out loud, quirking a brow knowingly at his friends. "Sometimes, I wonder whose protégé that boy _really_ is."

Yanagi smiled, while a muscle in line with Sanada's left eye twitched. "Mattaku," he grumbled. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Yukimura!"

But neither denied it.


	17. Q is for Quality time

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for leaving y'all hanging like that (RL has such a nasty tendency to sneak up on you in the most annoying of ways), but hopefully this little gem makes up for the unplanned hiatus. There's not a lot to be said about it to be honest, other than that it was a pure joy to sketch out – and just about writing itself in the end – because _this_, ladies and gentlemen, is _exactly_ what 'quality time' at Rikkai Dai is all about.

Also, did you know that Marui is the oldest on the regulars, while Yukimura (sans baby Akaya, of course) is the youngest?

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ is not mine.

* * *

_**Q**_ **is** **for** _**Q**_**uality time**

#

He saluted his astonished teammates with a haughty grin, which was quickly followed by a sly wink, "Dou, tensai-teki?"

Then, flawlessly, and right on cue, he fell into the most ridiculous pose he could think of to finish off a performance that might have been just a _bit_ over the top, even for him. But as he gauged their reactions through the 'V' of his widely splayed fingers, he decided that the extra effort had been well worth it: Yukimura was doubled-over in his seat, bubbling with merriment and clutching at his stomach unashamedly. Yanagi, too, was clearly enjoying the show, chuckling away rather cheerfully for once, though Yagyuu – ever the stubborn ass – was refusing to laugh openly like _a normal person_, instead preferring to cough into the sleeve of his blazer with all the stealth and discretion of a dying man. (Honestly. How _pathetic_.) And then there was Sanada, who had pulled down his ugly black cap as far as it would possibly go, still not _quite_ managing to hide the suspicious amount of mostly soundless twitching going on just south of the curved edge; and Jackal, of course, bless his honest soul, who was holding absolutely nothing back and practically in _tears_.

"Eh?!" fairly screeched the remaining member of their group, shock slowly giving way for complete and utter outrage. "—eeeeeh?!"

But unfortunately for him, this lonely outburst was mostly drowned by the deafening round of applause as Marui Bunta proudly took his bows.

"O...Oi!" shouted the _real_ Marui indignantly over the enthusiastic cheering, angrily shaking his fist at everyone present, especially one. "NIOU, you BASTARD! Change back! Change back NOW!"

But Niou-as-Marui simply grinned at the fuming original wolfishly. "Make me," he cooed, expertly snapping his bubblegum prop. "Piyo~"

Marui scowled evilly at The Trickster, only to be overcome with a sudden sense of acute vertigo as he found himself (yes, _truly_, because this was a lot like having his own damn reflection smirking at him) promptly scowling right back in a disturbingly accurate rendition. The glaring contest went on for another few minutes until one of them got bored, reverted back to his normal self and plopped down on his spot on the bench next to Jackal.

"I must say..." began Yagyuu somewhat unsteadily as the first to recover enough of his wits to dare intelligent conversation, but whose glasses nonetheless were still ever-so slightly askew on his nose. "You have outdone yourself this time, Niou-kun."

There were murmurs of agreement from all around, and given that this was the closest thing to approval he was ever likely to get from his sometime partner-in-mischief, Niou smirked. "Puri~"

"SHUT UP!" snarled Marui, absolutely furious. "That... That thing was NOTHING like me!"

"Geez, give it up already, Bunta!" disagreed Jackal kindly in a half-hearted attempt to defuse the situation before it had a chance to get either petty or physical, and therefore troublesome for Jackal, though his good intentions were admittedly somewhat at odds with the way he then immediately turned to properly high-five Niou. "Good job, man! You really nailed it this time!"

"N-No way!" exclaimed Marui as smirks were exchanged, deeply offended by Jackal's shameless act of blatant betrayal. But as he quickly looked around for support, and even Sanada (who normally was all too happy to get on Niou's case no matter what) didn't seem to care, Marui crossed his arms resolutely over his chest and stuck his nose in the air. "For _your_ information, _Niou_..." huffed the volley-specialist darkly. "You did it all wrong. It's 'tensai-te_ki_', not 'tensai-_te_ki'."

Niou shrugged, but even that was enough for Marui to bristle anew, and Jackal sighed. "Come on," coaxed the half-Brazilian valiantly. "You're getting all worked up over nothing!"

"Don't you 'nothing' me, Jackal!" retaliated Marui tersely, now more hell-bent than ever on revenge. "That bastard is going down!"

Jackal groaned into his hands ("Bunta... _seriously_!"), because nothing good could possibly come from this. Nothing.

"Niou!" shouted Marui, all fired-up and clearly not in the mood to be neither reasonable nor sensible. "I challenge you to a rematch!"

The Trickster's smirk broadened to a positively wicked grin.

Jackal threw his hands over his head in defeat, Sanada snorted, and even Yagyuu raised an eyebrow at Marui Bunta's display of unusually unsound judgement. "Marui-kun," said The Gentleman patiently, "I _assure_ you that it isn't worth the trou—"

"_Data doesn't lie_!" recited Marui fiercely, eyes firmly shut. "Hah! Beat that!"

Niou spared a quick glance at Yanagi, who was getting his shoulder patted by The Child of God most sympathetically, with an expression akin to pity.

"Sure thing..." he drawled. "No problem."

He raised his left hand into the air dramatically before slowly sliding it down against the side of his face. "_Nn_~," he practically _moaned_, much too sensually to be wholly appropriate. "_Ecstasy_!"

There was a short moment of deep, incredulous silence. Then, five out of the seven regulars assembled on the rooftop absolutely lost it; and Niou, for his part, supposed had to be some sort of record.

Marui was oscillating rather quite wildly between extreme post-defeat envy and the growing suspicion that this experience would somehow leave him deeply and profoundly traumatized for life. "Y-You're SO CREEPY, Niou!" he wailed angrily at the overcast sky above their heads. "I... I HATE this game!"

Niou smirked, dramatically popping his white shirt collar, before proceeding to delicately push a pair of imaginary glasses further up on the bridge of his nose with the tips of two fingers. "_Adieu_," he deadpanned, winking mischievously at Yagyuu, who promptly frowned and looked away.

Marui's hands immediately balled into fists at his side, and Sanada scoffed imperiously at the spectacle. "Marui, such childishness is—"

"Oh come off it, Sanada!" snapped Marui viciously, all too eager to spread the joy with a big shovel. "You're just gloating because your impression of Jackal last week was an epic fail!"

Sanada's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Ma—"

"Na, Yukimura," interjected Niou smoothly, _too_ smoothly. "Let's see your Sanada, then."

The Child of God looked up from his lunch, suddenly finding himself at the very epicentre of attention.

"You..." Marui frowned, eyeing Yukimura, who was just sitting there, sceptically. After all, everyone knew that Niou Masaharu was an idiot and a liar and a right bastard, which meant that this couldn't _possibly_ be anywhere _near_ the actual truth. "You do impressions? _You_?"

He fully expected Yukimura to laugh it off, but when the boy in question turned away, even looking a bit sheepish as he did – _without denying the fact_ – Marui immediately turned to Yanagi for answers.

"_He_—" The volley-specialist jabbed a finger at Yukimura accusingly. "_He does _impressions? What the heck, Renji!"

But The Master, whose chopsticks were frozen midway to his mouth, eyes wide-open and completely fixed upon the captain, didn't seem to have even heard the question.

"Yukimura-kun," urged Yagyuu, "is... is this _true_?"

Yukimura shrunk back a bit, fidgeting with his own eating utensils under the weight of the massive scrutiny. "Eh, well. I only know a few," he admitted at length. "Honestly, though, I'm not very good or any—"

"You... You have _got_ to be kidding me!" shrieked Marui, pouncing on The Child of God much in the same way he might a buffet table. "What _else_ have you been keeping from us, huh? _What else_!"

"It's just impressions!" reasoned Jackal as he combined forces with Hiroshi in prying Bunta, who was still huffing and puffing about _traitorous captains_ and _loyalty_, off of Yukimura's dumbfounded face. "Hardly top-secret stuff, you know."

"Maybe, but that's not the point!" complained Marui bitterly, sulking next to Yagyuu. "I mean, we've been playing this same old game for _years_!"

...well. Jackal supposed that once in a while even his deranged doubles partner talked some sense, seeing that Renji – and Sanada, on the rare occasion – joined in on the (mostly) good-natured heckling. "I guess—"

The Master discretely cleared his throat, and Jackal promptly shut up.

"_This_," commented Yanagi dryly, directly addressing The Trickster, "is certainly a revelation. I wouldn't have thought that Seiichi had the necessary vocal range for successful impersonations...?"

Sanada sighed inwardly; to challenge Renji's almighty knowledge in any way was invariably Very Bad News, and thus best avoided at all cost. It was as clear as daylight that Niou was a dead man walking, and Sanada almost (_almost_) felt a twinge of sympathy for the white-haired nuisance.

"I keep my eyes open," replied Niou with feigned nonchalance, while frantically pretending that being _glared_ at by their resident strategist wasn't intimidating and _goddamn_ _scary_.

Yanagi regarded Niou in thoughtful silence for a few moments. "...I'll keep that in mind," he finally conceded, also closing his eyes, and everyone could breathe a little easier.

"...well?" demanded Marui impatiently. "Let's hear it, then!"

"I really don't know if I should," protested Yukimura meekly, casting a genuinely apologetic glance at Sanada. "I'm sorry for drawing you into all this, Sanada."

"Mattaku," muttered The Emperor under his breath. On one hand, this impersonation business had come as a complete surprise to him too. But on the other, it was Yukimura that they were talking about. Yukimura. The Child of God. Tennis prodigy. _Genius_. So how bad could it really get?

"Well, according to my data, there is a ninety-six percent chance that the phrase in question is 'Tarundoru'," supplied Yanagi helpfully.

"T-Tarundoru?" repeated Jackal slowly, various facial muscles jerking. "Oh _Go_—"

"What about the remaining four percent, Yanagi-kun?" inquired Yagyuu politely with just a hint of glee.

"Tezuka's 'Yudan sezu ni ikou', one percent," replied The Master amiably. "Atobe's 'Ore-sama no bigi ni yoi na', one percent. Echizen Ryoma's 'Mada mada dane', one percent. Mizuki Hajime's 'Nfu', one percent."

Yukimura was positively beet red at this point. "Don't. Even. _Think_. About it," he hissed sweetly, quietly daring anyone to defy him.

And they wisely heeded the explicit warning; everyone except for Yanagi, of course. "So all things considered..." The Master paused. "I daresay it could be _a lot_ worse."

The Child of God glowered. "Ren—"

"It's your own fault for keeping it a secret for so long," interrupted him Marui smugly. "Get a move on, _kouhai_! We haven't got all day."

The air around him was saturated with anticipation, and never before had Yukimura Seiichi felt so completely and utterly helpless. But since they were unlikely to let him live this down either way, he might as well just get it over and done with as soon as possible.

He sighed.

"Here I go..."

* * *

_**Omake**_

"W-What the HELL was that noise just now? It's like someone was freakin' _dying_!" exclaimed a second-year boy through a mouthful of sticky rice. "I think it came from the roof!"

"Yeah... so what?" replied his friend indifferently. "They're just having fun."

"'They'?" The boy cocked an eyebrow. "You don't seem very surprised."

"'course not." Akaya rolled his eyes and shoved some more food into his mouth. "...happens every other week."


	18. R is for Rikkai Dai

Author's Note: This instalment actually took ages to write, I kid you not, and I'm still a bit on the fence about it to be honest. But here it is. Enjoy. And all the very best to everyone for the new year ahead ^.^

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ is not mine.

* * *

_**R**_** is for **_**R**_**ikkai Dai**

#

Sanada-fukubuchou, thinks Akaya, is a mountain. Not in the literal sense, of course, because even fukubuchou isn't a total rock all the time, and he runs freaking fast when he's mad, but in the way that Sanada-fukubuchou just is – _no matter what_ – like a mountain just is. So when buchou suddenly falls down down down and everything around them seems to be falling with him, Akaya, for one, isn't particularly worried.

Jackal-senpai, thinks Akaya, is without a doubt the strongest person on the team. He always figured that Jackal-senpai _had_ to be pretty damn strong, but it isn't until he spots Jackal-senpai on the way to school that Akaya realizes just how strong Jackals-senpai really is. Because it isn't the tennis bag slung over Jackal-senpai's shoulder, the colour of his skin, or even the light bouncing off of his shaved head that makes Jackal-senpai stand out from the crowd straightaway: it is the fact that Jackal-senpai walks so _tall_.

Marui-senpai, thinks Akaya, might in fact be the best senpai of them all. It's a secret that Akaya plans on taking to the grave – and _beyond_ – based on the certain knowledge that Marui-senpai would never let him live it down if he ever found out, but the truth is that even though Marui-senpai is totally nosey and annoying and nags worse than a _girl_, it's actually kind of nice to know that somebody cares.

Yanagi-senpai, thinks Akaya, works in some truly _mysterious_ ways. Take that time Akaya literally saves him from the mother of all bitch slaps, for example. Afterwards, Yanagi-senpai doesn't discreetly take him aside and thank him like a normal person might, or indicate in any normal way that he feels even the tiniest bit grateful to Akaya for intervening, _oh no_, because if there is one thing that Yanagi-senpai knows how to do well, it sure ain't Normal. Instead, what ends up happening is Yanagi-senpai expressing his everlasting gratitude by holding Akaya back one day after practise, creaming him in straight sets, not letting Akaya go home until he knows _exactly_ where he was going wrong. This ends up taking almost four whole hours, by which time Yanagi-senpai looks like he's slightly regretting his act of kindness and Marui-senpai has nearly pissed himself laughing. Twice.

Niou-senpai, thinks Akaya, spends so much time at practise just thinking and _watching_ that it's outright creepy. Akaya is a Doer sort of person and doesn't really get it (though he harbours some serious doubts about anyone on the squad, even Yanagi-senpai, fully getting Niou-senpai), but it _is_ pretty humbling to think that someone as scary and freakishly talented as Niou-senpai more or less relies on _them_ to play _his_ best.

Yagyuu-senpai, thinks Akaya, is such a _fraud_, because beneath that shiny gentleman persona, Yagyuu-senpai is a _boss_. Akaya can't say that he grasps the hows and whys of the situation (and he would be perfectly happy with living out the rest of his days in peace without ever finding out the details), but it's just good common sense not to mess with Yagyuu-senpai, ever. He knows absolutely everyone and everything worth knowing, and his campus-wide network of connections is already legendary and stretches pretty much everywhere; not a _leaf_ falls to the ground without Yagyuu-senpai knowing about it first, so Akaya wouldn't be in the least surprised if it turned out that Yagyuu-senpai in fact ran the whole school.

Yukimura-buchou, thinks Akaya, is so many things that it's easier to think about him in terms of the things that he is not. And Yukimura-buchou is _not_ steadfast like Sanada-fukubuchou, proud like Jackal-senpai and doesn't care quite like Marui-senpai. He is sensitive to conventions, unlike Yanagi-senpai who is too smart to let such things hold him back, and he definitely doesn't rely on other people (like Niou-senpai and Yagyuu-senpai, each in his own way) to get what he wants. In fact, buchou is probably the _least_ natural team player Akaya has ever seen, even compared to Hyoutei's Atobe-san, not to mention that fukubuchou is the better leader for sure; but goddammit if there isn't something about buchou that makes Akaya want to follow him to the ends of the earth anyway! He prods and pushes and demands everything you've got, drives you halfway to tears, hell and batshit _crazy_... and Akaya couldn't be more proud that he one day may tell the grandkids that gamps-sama once played tennis under an impossible guy like that. Because Yukimura-buchou is both Akaya's starting point and his final goal, and he will always, always be buchou.


End file.
